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ESSAYS 



CONTRIBUTED TO BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE 



St 

THE KEV. JOHN EAGLES 

M.A. OXON. 

AUTHOR OF "THE SKETCHER " 



WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 

EDINBURGH AND LONDON 

MDCCCLVII 



71? 4-&31 



/y^f 



CONTENTS. 



church music, and other paroch1als, 
medical attendance, and other parochials 
a few hours at hampton court, 
grandfathers and grandchildren, . 
sitting for a portrait, 
are there not great boasters among us ? 
temperance and teetotal societies, 
thackeray's lectures — swift, 
THE crystal palace, 

CIVILISATION — THE CENSUS, 
THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY, . 



1 
33 

6Q 
84 
107 
137 
166 
213 
265 
304 
457 



ESSAYS 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

[APRIL 1837.] 

I heartily wish, my dear Eusebius, that the Bishops, in 
their goodness and piety, would regulate many little parochial 
matters, which falling upon the minor and less admitted 
authority of rectors and vicars, and particularly curates, to 
put in good order, raise a wonderful opposition. The diffi- 
culty of interfering with the wishes and habits of men whom 
you daily meet, and who may personally argue points with 
you, and thereby surely take offence, is very great. But the 
unseen power of the bishop — the mandate that comes under 
Episcopal seal (the larger the more imposing), and couched 
perhaps in part in elegant phraseology, which is, where not 
quite intelligible, taken for a mystery — and the impossibility, 
in general obscure country parishes, of the malcontents en- 
countering a bishop in argument, — all this tells against any 
particular grievance with powerful decision. I speak not 
here of parishes of consideration, where there are many 
gentry, and the inhabitants are generally well informed ; but 
of merely rural parishes, taken possession of, as it were, time 
out of mind, by small farmers, and a large population of 
labourers. There are very many of these in the kingdom. 

A 



2 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

In the old and easy way of repose, and taking things jnst as 
you find them, they are very comfortable resting-places for 
the indolent, or the young curate satisfied with few pleasures, 
and those mostly out of the parish. 

The easy slipping and gliding into one of these ancient 
"settlements," with an improved stipend, and no greater 
liability to personal inspection and questionings than is in- 
curred by annual archidiaconal and triennial Episcopal visit- 
ations, is justly a matter of self- congratulation to the unam- 
bitious "inferior clergy" (as we are called for distinction, 
and to obtain respect among our very ignorant parishioners, 
whose vocabulary may not contain words of six syllables). 
We take possession of house and orchard, fees and flock, if 
not with a patriarchal, with a classic feeling, and quote our 
Virgil for the last time — 

"Et tandem antiquis Curetmn allabimur oris." 

Poor curates! the "working clergy" — for we must most 
of us work — we are not, and cannot all be so easily satisfied 
as these quoters of Virgil, the unencumbered with thought or 
family. A London gentleman's gentleman, whose delicate 
health required country air, sought the official situation of 
butler to the squire of a parish not far from mine. His 
manners were genteel — his views moderate — he took but two 
glasses of Madeira a-day. "And your wages? " quoth the 
squire. — " My salary" said he, with an emphasis, " only 
eighty guineas." Squire. " Considering, sir, that the country 
agrees wuth your health, and you take but two glasses of 
Madeira a-day, I think your salary is not very moderate ; 
there are man} 7 of the 'inferior clergy' in this neighbourhood 
that have not so much." — " Ah! sir," replied the invalid, "I 
have often heard of that unfortunate class of gentlemen, and 
(putting his delicate hand upon his breast, and bending with 
an air of condescension) I pity them from the very bottom of 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 3 

my heart." Now, this was well-bred pity, engendered 
doubtless by two glasses of Madeira a-day upon a sickly and 
nervous temperament. But the robust vulgar, better formed 
for beadles than sympathy, look upon the "inferior clergy" 
with quite another eye and attitude. A clerical friend, who, 
while in town, was engaged to officiate in the absence of the 
rector, was thus accosted by the clerk on his entry in the 
vestryroom : " Well, sir, are you the gentleman as preaches, 
or the man as reads t " Nay, my own poor clerk, who for 
fifty weeks in the year is a humble docile drudge, with 
simply a little excusable indented affectation and conceit in 
minor matters, inherited — for his father was clerk before him 
— always puts on more familiarity immediately after the two 
weeks in the year that the rector makes his appearance in 
the parish, leaving his blessing in his sermon, and taking 
away the tithes in his pocket. It was after one of these 
periodical visits I stood in the churchyard ; a man in a fus- 
tian jacket passed us, nodding familiarly to my clerk. " Who 
is that?" said I. — "A brother officer of ours" quoth he, 
« c lerk of ." 

" John," said I to him one day, " I must take you quietly 
to-morrow, or next day, into the church, and teach you to 
read, and make the responses better, and quite in another 
way." — " Why, sir," said he, " if I were to read just like you, 
there wouldn't be a bit of difference between us." 

This is a long parenthesis, so, to return to the first sen- 
tence. I heartily wish the bishops would assist us with 
their authority where we cannot move but to our prejudice. 
And I really know nothing better, or nothing worse, on 
which they may try their hands, than country parish music ; 
and if they were to extend it to all parishes it would not be 
amiss, for the Psalms of King David are not always thought 
good enough everywhere, and are superseded by namby- 
pamby mawkish hymns, of which I could furnish some speci- 



mens, but I will not, for I do not think them all proper. 
Now, in our rural parishes, what can possibly be worse than 
the music, and what more difficult to remedy, and yet preserve 
harmony f Singers were ever notorious for loving to have 
things their own way : ask them to perform anything, they 
are dumb — there is no end to it when they begin of their 
own accord. " Omnibus hoc vitium est cantoribus." But reli- 
gious singers are of all the most given to sudden discords. 
They imagine the whole congregation assembled but to hear 
them : one of them told me with pride, that it was the only 
part of the service during which no one was asleep. Warm- 
ing upon the subject, he added, that he had authority for 
saying, the singers in the Jewish Church had precedence of 
all other officials, and performed the most essential part of 
the service, as was clear from the Psalms, " The singers go 
before, and the minstrels (which he took to mean ministers) 
follow after." The conceit of country musicians is intoler- 
able ; what I chiefly complain of is their anthems. Every 
bumpkin has his favourite solo, and, oh ! the murder, the 
profanation ! If there be ears devout in the congregation, 
how must they ache ! These anthems should positively be 
forbidden by authority. Half-a-dozen ignorant conceited 
fellows stand up ; with a falsehood to begin with, they pro- 
fess to sing " to the honour and glory of God," but it is 
manifestly to the honour and glory of John Jones, Peter 
Hussey, Philip White, John Stobes, Timothy Prim, and John 
Pride. Then, when they are unanimous, their unanimity is 
wonderful, as all may know who remember in full choir cla- 
rionet, bass, and bassoon assisting. " Some put their trust 
in Charrots, and some in Orses, but we will remember," &c. 
In our gallery there was a tenor voice that was particularly 
disagreeable ; it had a perpetual yap yap in it, a hooh as if 
it went round a corner ; he had a very odd way, of which 
certainly he did not "keep the noiseless tenor." Then not 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 5 

only every one sings as loud as he can bawl, but cheeks and 
elbows are at their utmost efforts, the bassoon vying with 
the clarionet, the goose- stop of the clarionet with the bassoon 
— it is Babel with the addition of the beasts. By the by, it 
was a good hit of Coleridge's, it was the " loud bassoon " 
that suspended, and almost broke the charm that bound the 
wedding-guest to the Ancient Mariner's tale. Speaking of 
that audacious instrument, a misnomer was not inappropriate, 
if transferred to the player. A neighbour met a clown going 
from his own parish church to mine. " Why, John," said he, 
" what takes you this way ? " — " I do go," quoth John, " to 
church to hear the Baboons." He invariably reads Cheberims 
and Sepherims, and most unequivocally, "Iain a Lion to my 
mother's children," and really he sometimes looks not unlike 
one. This reminds me of a clergyman I knew ages ago, now 
dead many years— an amiable excellent man, who went by the 
name of The Lion, he was so like one. He had, too, a man- 
ner of shaking his head at you in coming into a room, that 
was quite frightful. I have often heard him tell the follow- 
ing anecdote of himself : He had to petition Lord Chancellor 
Thurlow for the transfer of a poor country Crown living from 
an uncle. Accordingly, the simple man waited on the Lord 
Chancellor. He heard old Thurlow roar out (as his name 
was announced), " Show him in." In he walks, shaking 
his head as usual, and looking very like a lion. Thurlow 
immediately cried out, " Show him out," adding, with an 
oath, more suo, " I never saw such an ugly man in my life." 
But he gave him what he wanted. 

If the clergyman happens not to be musical, the whole 
choir hold him in contempt — but if he make attempts occa- 
sionally to join and do his best, pleased with the compliment, 
they will spare him ; as thus — One wishing to put the choir 
in good-humour, had the hypocrisy to applaud their efforts 
to the principal singer, who replied, pulling up his waistband 



6 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

and lookiDg satisfaction, " Pretty well for that, sir ; but dang 
it, we didn't quite pat off the stephany" (symphony) ; "Does 
your parson sing ? " — " A do mumbly a bit." Now, this 
was meant to let him down easy ; it was neither praise nor 
quite contempt, but one qualified with the other. But could 
I put before you their books — could you read or hear what 
they do sing, especially on occasions such as weddings, 
funerals, and some festival days, when they take the liberty 
of an ad libitum, and thus outrun King David with a ven- 
geance, you would laugh heartily for an hour or two ; and as 
that might be construed into throwing ridicule on the church, 
I will not give you the opportunity, but I will, by one anec- 
dote, show you that they are not very nice in their selection. 
An old singer, who had vociferated from boyhood past his 
threescore years and ten, wishing to keep up the astonish- 
ment of the congregation to the last, asked a young lady to 
give him some new tunes. In a frolicsome mood she played 
him the common song, " In a cottage near a wood." The old 
man was delighted, requested words and music to be given 
him — it was done — and night and day was he at it. And 
how do you think he adapted it to the church ? You shall 
hear ; and would you had heard him, and seen him — his 
flourishes and his attitudes — the triumph of music over age ! 
Thus, then, he adapted it, singing, " In a cottage near a 
W." 

" Love and Laura, ma'am, ain't Scriptural — and must make 
it Scriptural — so, 

' Love and Lazarus still are mine.' " 

u Risum teneatis." Never was love so joined. But what 
will you say to the charms of Lazarus ? Impossible — no — it 
is even so. Thus, 

"Lazarus, oh, my charming fair. 
None wi' Lazarus can compare." 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 7 

Judging from this specimen, you will not think it safe to 
request a peep into his book. But do you think any piety, 
any devotion, proof against risibility, with such an ally as 
Lazarus anthemised with love in a church gallery ? I am sure 
none of the congregation could have slept after that, with the 
affettuoso and the con spirito in their ears ; and had that been 
sung last Sunday, instead of the funeral hymn, a compilation 
from "Death and the Lady" and the 90th Psalm, we shouldn't 
have been disturbed as we were, for the melancholy drone had 
set a great portion of the congregation to sleep before I had 
given out the text. A great fat fourteen-year-old farmer's 
daughter had seated herself, with three sisters and a little 
brother, in the exact proportion of the descending scale. They 
were of the "Md noddin' at our house athame " family. A 
nodding indeed they had of it ; the big one lost her balance, 
fell against the sister, that sister against the other, then the 
other, and then the boy, and down they all went on the floor 
of the pew, like a pack of cards, — one, indeed, heavy with her 
own weight, the rest with additional. 

While on the subject of parish choirs, I must mention one 
situation in which you have it in perfection. Did you ever 
attend a parish club ? I assure you, if yon are once a curate, 
and aim at decent popularity that you may do good, you must 
not refuse the invitation, which is given with much ceremony, 
— nay, more, you must carve the mutton, and the beef, and 
the veal, sit at the end of a long table, close by the door, 
yourself the only opposing barrier to the fume, heat, and tobacco- 
smoke, which rushes for an exit thereto. But it is of the 
music I wish to speak. On these occasions, there is a junc- 
tion of parish bands ; and when, after dinner, to do honour to 
yourself as a guest, and the club, they are all packed in one 
room, not a large one, with scarcely space to exercise their 
elbows, which makes them more strenuous at the blowing ; 
and when they set to work with a twenty-musician power of 



8 CBUECH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

lungs and instruments, all striving for the mastery — when 
you hear, you will be convinced that it was a peculiar tyranny 
in the king of Babylon to make all people and nations fall 
down and worship him, at " the sound of the cornet, flute, 
harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of music." 
For if Orpheus is feigned to have uprooted inanimate trees, 
and made immovable things move, so would such wondrous 
powers have a contrary effect on things animate and movable, 
of making them stand stock-still with astonishment and con- 
fusion. As far as I can observe, cornet, dulcimer, and sackbut 
are an antidote to worship. In an argument upon the never- 
ending subject, excepting the self-worship of the performers, 
the relative merits of the sister arts, Music, Poetry, and 
Painting, an ingenious friend quaintly observed, that music 
was very well but for the noise. With the remembrance of 
the parish-club salute upon me, I perfectly agree with him. 
Shakespeare must have witnessed something of the kind, when 
he put into Lear's mouth, "Blow, winds, and crack your 
cheeks." I have often wondered at the fact, that farmers 
and agricultural labourers are, more than any other class of 
persons, subject to deafness. It never occurred to me before 
that it might arise from Parochial Music. 

I have pointed out a case in which bishops may inter- 
fere, and do not. I will mention one where they do, and 
should not. They should not make any part of the parish- 
ioners spies upon the conduct of their clergyman; mutual 
mistrust is engendered thereby, and no little hypocrisy, and 
the clergyman degraded. It should be taken for granted that 
the parish will complain, if there be need ; but do not let 
circulars be sent to John Stiles and Peter Pipes, churchwar- 
dens, and Joseph Budge, overseer, to report how the clergy- 
man conducts himself; for ten to one but this triumvirate 
w T ill think higher of themselves than of their u spiritual pas- 
tor and master," to whom their set-aside Catechism taught 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCH1ALS. 9 

them "to submit," with the admirable addition, "to hurt 
nobody by word nor deed. If there must needs be an overseer, 
let it be, as the name implies, Episcopus, the Bishop. 

It should seem that the clerical Saturnalia are arrived, and 
that I could not wait a moment, but must unpack the burden 
of my complaints, and throw them at my betters "; for, in 
truth, my dear Eusebius, I had nearly forgotten that I sat 
down to reply to your very grave letter. It is your serious 
intention, you say, to enter^holy orders ; and that the curacy 

of is offered to you as a title. You wish to know my 

opinion as to the compatibility, both of your temper and turn 
of mind, for the sacred office ? You are now twenty-eight 
years of age ; I know you are free from all mercenary views 
(and God help the honesty of those who would construe the 

taking the curacy of into a mercenary act). I know, as 

you say, you have no interest in the Church. Your object is 
to devote sincerely to the profession an ardent enthusiastic 
mind ; and, according to your gifts, to do good. But, my 
dear Eusebius, we are not all what we would be, and often 
ourselves overlook some trifling disqualifications, when our 
zeal urges us to attain the accomplishment of great things. 
There is in you, then, believe me, a spice of genius, that, for 
want of early direction to any one pursuit, has mixed itself 
with everything you undertake — and excuse me if I say, 
somewhat whimsically. When I say genius, I am not show- 
ing that you are poet, painter, or musician, or any other 
er or ician ; but you might have been any of these. The 
genius within you then, for lack of regular employment, has 
sported and gambled with your ideas, and, like an idle imp, 
furnished you oft with very inappropriate ones. On the most 
grave occasions have I observed you in vain try to set aside 
obtrusive pleasantries, and buckle your mind to the matter 
of fact. Far be it from me to charge you, above all men liv- 
ing, with levity — the symbol of a weak head and unfeeling 



10 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHEE PAROCHIALS. 

heart. With you, all Nature's sympathies are alive and 
active. How shall I describe your peculiarity ? — you have a 
spice of Yorick in you. You will be perpetually misunder- 
stood ; and from the uncontrollable sportiveness of your own 
fancy, never give yourself time to understand and manage 
the opinions and tempers of others, with which your own must 
be brought in conflict. Your ready perception of the ridicu- 
lous, and your irresistible propensity to laugh, and speak 
according to your humour, offer serious obstacles in the way 
of the good you would do. You will say, the solemnity of 
religion will protect you. Believe it not. If you could pre- 
scribe and limit the solemnity, it would ; but your solemnity 
is not all the world's solemnity ; and with even religious 
things, and in religious offices, are mixed up the ridiculous 
and the disgusting. We need indeed daily, we, the working 
clergy, patience, charity, and forbearance — to keep in abey- 
ance our own feelings, tastes, and even understanding, that 
we may thoroughly enter into the minds of those with whom 
we have to do. But, my dear Eusebius, can you do this ? — 
I fear not. I know well the curacy you are offered ; it is a 
wild place. The people say of it, that it was the last that 
was made, and there was not enough of good materials left 
— it does appear, in truth, be it spoken with reverence, 
a heaven-forgetting and heaven-forgotten place. With some 
few exceptions of a higher cast, and who do not think the less 
highly of themselves, but will think less highly of you, and 
not relish your being above them in the eyes of the rest, your 
parishioners will be very small farmers and labourers, the 
latter in all respects by far the best ; the former, ignorant, 
prejudiced, with a pride peculiarly their own, and extreme 
dulness of understanding. Now, judge for yourself. But it 
will not be amiss if I look over my diary ; and remember that 
it will tell of occurrences in a parish very superior in intel- 
lectual advancement to that which you purpose to be the scene 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 11 

of your labour of love. I shall omit dates, and not separate 
from the extracts my comments, by marking anything as 
quotation from my commonplace-book or diary. 

Marriages. — How very lightly people think of marriages 
when they make them, whatever they may do afterwards ; 
and many examples are there then of the evil and the good 
— the "better" and the "worse." I had been called upon, 

in the absence of my friend B , to marry a couple in the 

little town of . After I had married this couple, a very 

dirty pair offered themselves — a chimney-sweeper, in his 
usual dress and black face, and a woman about fifty. — What 
could possess them to marry ? The man ran off from the 
church door as soon as the ceremony was over, as fast as he 
could run ; the woman took a contrary direction. As I was 
on horseback, I overtook her; she had a rabble after her, 
and seeing me, pointed me out, hurraing, " There's the man 
that ha' done it — there's the man that ha' done it ! " Unused 
to such salutations, and not knowing if it was the habit of 
the place, and fearing a wrong construction as to what I 
had done, I rode away somewhat faster than some think con- 
sistent with clerical regulations. It is astonishing how ill 
understood are even the words of the marriage-service. It is 
in vain you explain. It is nearly always, for " I thee endow," 
" I thee and thou," and the holy ordinance is fired out of 
their mouths as if it were a piece of cannon. How should it 
be otherwise ? they never heard of the word before. But I 
cannot excuse them not practising beforehand the putting 
on the ring, which is almost invariably forced on — the man's 
thumb wetted in his mouth, and the fat finger squeezed, 
and the ring finally forced down with the nail. They take, 
" To have and to hold " so literally, that, having once the 
ring on and the finger held, they never know when to let go. 

I said, I cannot tell why the couples that marry should 
marry. Now, here is an instance of a reason being given ; 



12 CHURCH MUSIC, AXD OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

and it being a rare thing, and a rare reason, it ought to be 

noted. Very recently, bluff big farmer M told me he 

was to be married on such a day. I was taken by surprise, 
for I had buried his wife but a very few months. He was a 
stout, big widower, near sixty, with lungs louder than any 
Stentor, and very irritable. He saw I was surprised, and 
took fire, and literally roared, " Why, now, what be I to do ? 
I got vive cows to calve, and nobody to look ater 'em." 
Foolish man, thought I, and I remembered the passage — 
" How shall a man have understanding whose talk is of 
bullocks?" — "And pray," said I, to the bride-elect, as I 
met her soon after this, " what may be your reason? " She 
was a widow, and, like an old bird, was not to be caught 
with chaff. She looked very grave and business-like, and 
replied, " There is a widowhood on the estate." 

One had practised the ceremony beforehand — he was a 
deaf man, but, unfortunately, he had taken the wrong leaf ; 
and being asked if he would, " forsaking all other, keep thee 
only unto her, so long as ye both shall live;" and being 
nudged to answer, repeated the response from the Order of 
Baptism, " I renounce them all." 

There is a very curious custom here, of ringing the wed- 
ding-peal for all who die unmarried. They are then sup- 
posed to be married like St Catharine. Is this a remnant of 
Popish practices? I was shocked the other day at an 
instance in which this ceremony was performed. A wretched 
old creature died in the poor-house ; certainly she was never 
married, but her son attended her funeral. She had, in 
truth, lived a sad life, but was a St Catharine in her death ; 
and oh ! abused, insulted virgin purity ! she was now the 
bride, and had her marriage-peal. How strange it is, that 
the people themselves do not see the insult to all virtue, the 
mockery and the silliness of this. 

Christenings. — They tell of Bishop Porteous, that he had an 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 13 

utter aversion to long names, and fine names, and more than 
one name. That being called upon, when a parish priest, to 
christen a poor man's child, Thomas Timothy, he dipped his 
finger hastily in the basin, cut the matter and the names 
short, and christened the child " Tom Tit." The fashion is 
now running, and has been for some years, to fine names — 
Bettys, Sallys, Sukeys, Nannys, are all gone ; — and apropos 
upon Nanny, I have seen the beautiful old ballad, " Nanny, 
wilt thou gang with me," adapted to modern elegance thus, 
" Amelia, will you go with me." This, however, has nothing 
to do with church christenings, but it shows that " a rose, by 
any other name," may in time smell sweeter. 

A clown, who had been engaged to stand godfather, and 
had not practised kneeling, ludicrously disturbed the cere- 
mony, not long ago, by overshooting the hassock, and falling 
completely over on his face on the bare stones. He cut his 
nose, the bleeding of which took him out of church, and 
delayed us some time. 

Now of names. — Surely I have entered on the register the 
strangest imaginable. A mason's wife, and belonging to the 
next parish, presented her urchin. "What took place is 
exactly as follows : " Say the name," said I, with my finger 
in the water. " Acts, sir," said she. " Acts" said I, "what 
do you mean ? " Thinks I to myself, I will ax the clerk to 
spell it. He did — a cts; so Acts was the babe, and will be 
while in this life, and will be doubly, trebly so registered, if 
ever he marries or dies. Afterwards, in the vestry, I asked 
the good woman what made her choose such a name. Her 
answer verbatim : " Why, sir, we be religious people ; 
we've got vour on 'em already, and they be caal'd Matthew, 
Mark, Luke, and John, and so my husband thought he'd com- 
pliment the Apostles a bit." The idea of complimenting 
the Apostles with this little dab of living mortar was too 
much ; even I could not help laughing. I have no doubt she 



14 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

will go on to Revelations, they being particularly religious 
people. 

Funeral. — Poor farmer Q ! I feel for him — he has 

lost a good wife, and a good mother to his large family. It 
Diade my heart ache to see the poor man bringing his chil- 
dren, down to the youngest, all in decent mourning, to pay 
their last duty to a faithful wife and tender mother. They 
were earlier than I expected ; I overtook him and his chil- 
dren (they were in a covered cart, with curtains behind), half 
a mile from the church, in a shady lane. The sun was 
nickering through the foliage of the high hedge, and playing 
upon the dark curtains, and the youngest child, with almost 
an infantine smile, was playing with them, and putting her 
finger on the changeful light. As she removed the curtains, 
within were seen the family group, the cast-down father at 
the head. The children, from sixteen years of age down- 
ward, were variously affected — the elder weeping ; a middle 
one, probably a pet, sobbing loudly ; others below, with a 
fixed look, as if surprised at the strangeness of their situa- 
tion. But the childish play of the youngest, who could not, 
perhaps, conceive what Death was, was such a vindication 
of the wisdom and goodness of Providence and Nature that 
tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, that I have often since 
had the scene before me. That poor child required uncon- 
sciousness of this world's miseries, that, fully and deeply 
felt, would have torn its weak frame, and nipped the life in 
the bud, and therefore permanent sensibility was denied, and 
is denied to all such. I never saw the awfulness of death 
and the newness and sportiveness of life so brought together. 
The occasion was death, and the child was at play with it, 
and unhurt ; — and I thought of the passage — " The weaned 
child shall put his hand on the cockatrice's den." The 
accident of thus meeting the funeral affected me greatly. 
There was another incident attending it that distressed me 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 15 

at the time, and does so even now when I think of it. How 
often do the most solemn and the ridiculous unite, and how 
difficult is it for poor weak infirmity of human nature to say, 
to this I will positively incline, and resist the other. I trust I 
did resist; but, my dear Eusebius, what must have been the 
case with you ? I received the funeral at the bottom of the 
churchyard, and there lives at the very gate the general 
tradesman of the village, who acts as undertaker. He was 
at the head, directing the procession, and by his side, and 
fronting me, stood, as if waiting for the order to move, a 
tame magpie, the property of an old dame who lived in a 
cottage facing the undertaker's. The creature, with his 
black coat and white breast, looked so like an undertaker 
with his scarf, and he stood so in order, and looked so up at 
me, that I would have given the world if any kind hand had 
wrung his neck. The procession began to move ; and what 
should the creature do but hop on and join me as I was 
reading the service, and so continued hopping close at my 
side, even into the church, and to the very step of the read- 
ing desk. I did not dare to suggest to any one to remove 
him, for I know there is a superstition about magpies, and I 
feared directing the attention of the mourners to the circum- 
stance. He hopped out of church with me and peered into 
the grave, and then looked up at me ; and yet I went through 
the service, and I trust seriously — but there was at times a 
great difficulty. My good Eusebius, I tremble when I think 
of you in such a situation ; — why, you would have been so 
taken possession of by your sense of the ridiculous, that I 
know not what gambols you would have made — you might 
have capered over the coffin for aught I can tell — have been 
called an unfeeling wretch, and represented as such to the 
bishop of the diocese — all the while, that I will answer for you, 
your heart would have been aching for the poor distressed 
family, and you would have given your year's stipend — ay, 



16 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

much more — that this had not occurred, to add to their 
distress. 

We have had, as I think, a disgraceful burial. A poor 
youth, about nineteen years of age, has been buried in a 
ditch in the churchyard, at twelve o'clock at night, because 
a stupid coroner's inquest jury would bring in their verdict — 
felo de se. It was as clear an act of temporary insanity as 
could be. The case was this : The poor boy had gone into 

the town of on a market day, and had purchased 

a print with some little savings, intending, when he could 
save more, to buy another he saw. He returned home, ate a 
hearty supper, and was very cheerful — went into the stable 
to do up his horse, and there was found suspended and dead. 
I remonstrated with the foreman of the jury. " We couldn't 
by no means do no other," said he ; "for we couldn't discover 
the least reason for his destroying himself! " — " Then," said 
I, "he did it without reason, did he ? "— " Without the 
least," replied he. — " Then," said I, "if he had done it with 
reason, with intention to be released from a known trouble, 
and perfectly in his reason, you would have brought in a 
contrary verdict? " — "Insanity, without doubt," he replied. 
Oh, it is lamentable that the stupidity of a foreman should 
infect a whole jury ! To argue further would have been a 
waste of words. This reminds me to refer to another case in 
which a boy hanged himself, but was cut down in time. This 
happened a year and more before the other. I was called to 
see the boy (an apprentice to a poor and small farmer), he 
was a half-stupid, half-cunning, and wholly wicked-lookiDg 
boy, stunted in growth, apparently about sixteen years of 
age. The account given of him was that he was desperately 
wicked — that, a little before, he had attempted to drive the 
plough over one of the farmer's children, and they were 
greatly afraid of him. I talked to the boy — " Why did he 
do it? "— " The devil had told him to do it."—" Where did 



AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 17 

he see him ? " — " Very often." — What sort of a person was 
he ? " — " Like a gentleman, with a bit of white hanging over 
his boots." I then left the boy and went into the house to 
talk with his mother, who had arrived, and -directed the 
doctor to be sent for. When I went out to the boy again, a 
man who had walked to the farm with me was making him 
repeat, after him, the Lord's Prayer. They had just come 
to the words, "Give us this day our daily bread." — "Bread!" 
said the boy, with stupid astonishment, looking up in the 
gentleman's face; "we don't ha' much bread — mostly taties." 
I knew the medical men would give him physic, and I, to 
keep him safe in the interim, gave him promise of a treat 
worth living for — that, Sunday- week, if he would come to 
the Parsonage, I would give him a good dinner of roast-beef, 
and a shilling in his pocket. He did not make another 
attempt — but he turned out very ill — was near committing 
murder, and, through fear of it, induced a poor girl to marry 
him. I fear it was a sad affair, and perhaps will end in one 
of the deep tragedies of the lower walks of life, of which 
there are more than the higher wot of. I had recollected 
this youth being once a scholar in our Sunday school, but he 
stayed a very short time, and then showed either his wicked- 
ness or his ignorance, for, to a question in the Catechism, he 
returned thanks "for this state of starvation." I took no 
notice of it; and he was, in truth, ragged and starved enough. 
There is sometimes a quaintness in these half-cunning, 
wicked- stupid persons, that is very like wit. I remember 
an instance. A half-witted boy, maintained by the parish, 
was in the habit of tearing off all his clothes, till they found 
a method of buttoning his jacket behind. Doubtless he was 
not fed like a fat friar. Meeting one day a greyhound 
(there is always a fellowship between such and these dumb 
creatures), he looked earnestly at him, and felt with his hand 
down his backbone, and spanned him round his body. "Ah, 



18 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

my poor fellow," said lie, " it is bad times for you and I 
since buttoning-in in the back is come into fashion." It is 
very questionable if education would add anything to the 
intellects or habits of these poor creatures. 

We never could establish more than a Sunday school. 
There is no class of persons so indifferent to education as 
farmers ; they do not give any encouragement to it. There 
is good and evil in most things. I have seen so much loss 
of filial and parental affection from the parish becoming the 
general supporter (for it frequently happens that old people 
in a poor-house know nothing whatever of their families, if 
they be dead or living, though perhaps not separated many 
miles), that I doubt much if the little hearts of children, or 
the bigger of their mothers, are bettered by the removal of 
the one from the other, as in infant schools ; and the removal 
of the solicitude, the hourly care, is, it is to be feared, at the 
same time a removal of affection. Why should they at these 
infant schools teach the children such antics ? They learn 
the numeration-table by thumping or slapping, rather inde- 
corously occasionally, the different parts of their persons, 
and cannot count " wan, too, dree, fower, vive," without it. 
There is by far too much rote learning, parroting, in chil- 
dren's schools. A sensible friend told me he was called in 
to hear the children, when, disgusted with the parrot-order 
of the thing, he said to one of the children, when quite 
another question should have been asked, " Come, my good 
little boy, tell me what's your duty to your father and 
mother ? " — a It's all sin and misery," squeaked out the 
urchin. Perhaps, in the modem system of separation, the 
answer may become appropriate. I remember a circum- 
stance narrated by a friend that at the time much amused 
me. A very good lady had taken great pains to establish an 
infant or children's school upon a large scale, and had sent 
into the country a person who happened to be one of the 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 19 

Society of Friends, to collect money, and apple-trees for the 
school garden. He called upon the narrator, and told his 
double purpose. " Ah ! " said my friend, " apple-trees ! a 
very proper thing, and the poor little children will have nice 
apples to eat." — " No, friend," quoth Starch, " not to eat." 
" Oh ! for puddings, then ! better still — a very good plan." — 
" No, 'tisn't for puddings neither, nor pies." " No ? " said 
my friend ; " what then ? " — " It is to teach them to resist 
temptation." " Oh ! that is it, is it? To resist temptation ! 
That is very strange. Mayhap, then, you are not acquainted 
with a book that, in my younger days, was thought much of 
— indeed we were made to read it daily, and learn it ; and I 
recollect a passage in it well, for I always repeated it twice 
a-day, rising in the morning and going to bed at night. 
Perhaps you never read that book, for it was taught me by 
my mother before infant schools were thought of. The pas- 
sage was this : ' Lead us not into temptation.' " This was 
too much for the district missionary for the planting of apple- 
trees ; he broke away with some warmth, saying, " Ah, 
friend, I see thee dost know nothing about it." There is 
something pleasant in the conceit that the little urchins of 
our present day, by a little routine of slapping all their sides 
to the numeration-table, and singing all that they should 
say to the canticle of " This is the way to London town," 
should be so very superior to our full-grown first parents. I 
have very little experience in these matters, but it does 
appear to me that it would be much better to u whip the 
offending Adam out of them " before they are put in the way 
of temptation ; and certainly they will have some tunes and 
slapping practices of perpetual motion to unlearn before they 
will be of use in any known trade or employment. 

I do not see that there was any occasion for my attending 
the funeral of Farmer M., to ride in procession five miles 
from the house to the church. My unlucky clumsiness has 



20 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

put me quite out of humour with myself and the silly people. 
I was invited at half-past ten, and thought it was to break- 
fast, but it turned out to be a dinner at twelve. It was a 
wet day, the whole house smelt of damp and black cloth. I 
never saw mourning look so ill and inauspicious as upon the 
company of farmers in top-boots. I felt quite out of place 
and uncomfortable. But let me give some account of the 
dinner. I suppose it was according to some rule. There 
was a piece of beef at the top, next to that a fillet of veal, 
then a leg of mutton — then a leg of mutton, a fillet of veal, 
and a piece of beef; the sides had baked plum-puddings 
opposite to each other. Everything was by duplicate, so 
that, from the centre, the top and bottom were exactly alike. 
Before setting off, the nurse that had attended the sick man 
brought round cake and wine, with a peculiar cake folded in 
paper for each to put in our pockets. It was certainly very 
stupid of me — and I thought the old hag, when she entered 
the room, looked like an Alecto — but so it happened, as I 
put out my hand to take the glass, and at the same time 
taming somewhat round, the sleeve of my gown knocked 
down the wine-glass, spilt the wine, and broke the glass. 
The old nurse croaked out in a tone that arrested every one's 
attention, " There will be another death in the family ! the 
parson has spilt the wine and broken the glass ! " I thought 
she spat vipers out of her ugly mouth. All looked first at 
each other and then at me. If I had been guilty of murder 
they could not have looked, as it then appeared to me, with 
more scowling aspects. I may now add to this, that, in fact, 
it little signified. The significant looks at each other on the 
occasion were not on my account. The sister of the dead 
man, whose husband was present, was then actually dying of 
a consumption ; and in the course of a very few months the 
widower and the widow made the omen lucky by sanctifying 
it in church in holy matrimony. I will, however, take great 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 21 

care not to spill wine again at a funeral, for it is not to be 
expected that on all occasions the parties concerned in the 
omen will so help me out of the predicament. There are a 
great many silly people very wise in their own conceit, that 
for ever tell you philosophy has driven superstition from the 
land, which only proves that these foolish people know very 
little of the land, and are themselves superstitious enough 
to believe that the whole world is rolled up in their own 
persons. I will venture to say, there never was more super- 
stition — political and religious. Eeasonable things are 
rejected in both, and absurdities and impossibilities believed 
in both. Many of our large cities are divided between these 
two infatuations. The one half is a hot-bed, where the new- 
est religions are raised as occasions may require, and the 
other half rears political mushrooms, poisonous and credu- 
lous. But there is still pretty much of the old superstition 
remaining in country places ; and I am not sure that it can 
be replaced by a better — it is generally harmless. How 
many town-thousands take tens of thousands of Morison's 
pills, and why should not the country have its cunning man? 
I have known three old women notorious witches ; one be- 
lieved herself to be one at last ; I saw her die, when she had 
a very large pair of scissors laid on her bed, and she moved 
her fingers as she would clip with them. She could not 
then speak. The people about her said, all the boxes and 
drawers in the room must be opened, or the soul couldn't 
escape, and that was the reason she was so long dying. 
When they think a person is dying, you will always find 
them facilitate the passage by opening the boxes. By the 
by, two old nurses were overheard complimenting each other 
on their many " beautiful corpses," and their various methods 
of making people die easy, when one whipped a bit of tape 
out of her pocket, and said she always found when they 
struggled, that just gently pressing this against the throat 



22 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

was an invaluable remedy for hard dying — they went oil like 
infants in a sleep. But to the matter of witches — of the two 
other, one is now living, and was shot at by a young farmer, 
who thought himself bewitched, with a crooked sixpence ; 
it went through her petticoat. This not succeeding, he 
caught her and drew blood from her arm. Her witchcraft, 
I believe, consisted in her having more sense than her 
neighbours, and being able to read and write. Yet there is a 
much worse superstition creeping in very fast. The Initiated 
are religionists. They get a poor weak creature in among 
them in a heated close room, and roar and throw themselves 
into wonderful tantrums, calling upon the Lord, and ordering 
him very audaciously to come down and convert the sinner. 
I have often heard them, and on one occasion a person com- 
ing out, I asked him what was doing. He said that John 
Hodge was "under a strong conviction," and would soon 
give in. And so in fact he did, for I heard a tremendous 
noise, which I found to be, that the poor fellow had tumbled 
down in a fit, and they all fell down upon him, shouting, 
laughing, and giving thanks. I cannot possibly describe 
the uproar and blasphemous tumult I heard with my own 
ears. There was a young girl, about seventeen years of 
age, who had been, as they said, put into a trance by the 
spirit for three days. On her awaking she told the Initiated, 
and they to all the neighbourhood, that she had been to the 
" wicked place," and had there seen Mrs.B. (a very respect- 
able lady of the next parish) trying to escape from the fire, 
and the devil tossing her back with a pitchfork. She, with a 
deputation, went a few days after to Mrs B. to warn her of her 
danger. How sorry am I to say it, the visions of this young 
girl were scarcely disbelieved by any, at most doubted ; 
but very many of the poor believed all she said. The 
girl turned inspired preacher, as might have been expected, 
and would have been the founder of a new sect in the 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 23 

parish had she stayed long ; but she went off with a male 
preacher, and we never heard more of her, and there was an 
end of it. I dare say when she is somewhat older, and has 
learnt a few more tricks, she will start up in full blaze in 
London, and be the possessor of Johanna Southcote's silver 
pap-dish and cradle. 

Ghosts have been seen ; and more than one person walks. 
This reminds me of a whimsical scene. It is the custom in 
the parish to have sand floors. A new one was laid in the 
poor-house ; after a certain time it must be beat till quite 
hard. The operation of the beating and pounding in this 
instance took place in the night, by a solitary mason — a 
seemingly simple fellow, but a great knave. The poor- 
house window looks into the churchyard, below the level of 
which is the floor. This house nearly joined mine, and the 
noise awoke us, and it was thought thieves were breaking 
in. A young man in the house jumped out of bed and 
slipped on my surplice, determined to ascertain from whence 
the noise came. He looked in at the window from the 
churchyard, and saw the mason hard at it : of course at such 
work he could hear no step ; so that, when the youth sud- 
denly appeared before him in his surplice, he took him for a 
ghost or an angel, dropt his rammers, and was upon his 
knees in a moment, crying — " Lord, Lord, don't come 
nigh me ; go back again, go back again ; which of them 
things (meaning the ancient tombs) did ye come out of?" 
He fell sick from fright, and put himself on his club for a 
fortnight. I have often tried to make out the exact ideas 
the poor people have of angels — for they talk a great deal 
about them. The best that I can make of it is, that they 
are children, or children's heads and shoulders winged, as 
represented in church paintings, and in plaster-of-Paris on 
ceilings ; we have a goodly row of them all the length of 
our ceiling, and it cost the parish, or rather the then minister, 



24 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

who indulged them, no trifle to have the eyes blacked, and 
nostrils, and a touch of light red put in in the cheeks. It is 
notorious and scriptural, they think, that the lody dies, but 
nothing being said about the head and shoulders, they have 
a sort of belief that they are preserved to angels — which 
are no other than dead young children. A medical man told 
me, that he was called upon to visit a woman who had been 
confined, and all whose children had died. As he reached 
the door, a neighbour came out to him, lifting up her hands 
and eyes, and saying, " she's a blessed 'oman — a blessed 
'oman." — "A blessed woman," said he ; "what do you mean ? 
— she isn't dead, is she ?" — " Oh no — but this un's a angel 
too — she's a blessed 'oman, for she breeds angels for the Lord/' 
There is something very shocking in this ; it will be so to 
read as it is to write- — but being true, it must be written, or 
we cannot give true and faithful accounts of things as they 
are. I called but a short time since at a farmhouse, where 
was an old woman, a servant, in trouble, I believe, about one 
of her family ; and there was a middle-aged, solemn-looking 
woman trying to comfort her ; and in a dialect I cannot pre- 
tend to spell, which made it the more odd, told her she ought 
to go to church, and look up at the little angels she was 
sitting under, and see their precious eyes, and take comfort 
from them. 

I had for some time observed the parish-clerk hurried in 
his manner, and flushed in his face ; and one morning I saw 
him running wildly, apparently without an object — but I said 
nothing. All his relatives and connections were Methodists, 
and I knew he frequented their chapel ; but little did I think 
that any one of the sect would boast of driving him out of his 
senses. But so it was : on Sunday night one of the principal 
persons in the village of that persuasion came to me with a 
very solemn, mysterious, and mystical face, and told me that 
my clerk was out of his mind ; that he had been at chapel, 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 25 

and heard a most powerful — a most working discourse, from 
the Kev. Mr A. ; that he was then raving, and it was wished 
that I should go and see him. " My good friend," said I, " do 
not either yourself or your reverend minister take any burden 
upon your consciences that you have driven the poor fellow 
mad. I assure you it is no such thing — I saw it coming on 
this week past." That which should have comforted, how- 
ever, made my informant chopfallen. But will it be credited 
at headquarters ? his friends of the connection went to the 
cunning man — of that, by-and-by. I went to see the poor 
fellow. Melancholy as was the circumstance, the scene was 
ludicrous in the extreme. He was sitting up in bed, sur- 
rounded by his friends ; some were praying, some crying. 
When I arrived there was a pause ; but what made the scene 
so ludicrous was the position, the employment, and expres- 
sion of features of the carpenter of the village, a sot, and un- 
shaved. He was behind the clerk on the bolster ; he looked 
for all the world like a huge monkey ; and he w r as shaving 
the head of the unfortunate man, pretty much perhaps as 
he would plane a board. The clerk, as I said, was sitting up 
in bed ; he knew me, and conversed, but incoherently, with 
me ; then broke out into singing, with the following inter- 
mixture of spiritual address to me : — 

" My love, she is a pretty maid, 
Tallura, lura, lura. 

Oh, sir, these are rough means of grace — 

Tallura, lura, lura." 

Again went the plane over his head, and again — " These are 

certainly rough means of grace — 

Tallura, lura, lura." 

Poor fellow — my dear Eusebius, had you been there ! — but 
I will spare you— I wall only tell you one fact, that the coro- 
ner's jury and foreman who sat upon the body of the poor boy 
were there ; and I would not answer for the manner in which 



26 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

they would have treated yon. I said the Mends went to the 
cunning man — the result was, that, in a week or two, they 
walked the poor man by a river, and suddenly pushed him in, 
and drew him out, they said, cured. Certain it is he did re- 
cover perfectly, and never has been so since. You, my dear 
Eusebius, never would have suspected danger in such a duty ; 
and well do I know the human sympathies that throb from 
your heart, and set in motion every nerve, sinew, and limb to 
run to the relief of the afflicted, without considering if any 
relief can be given, or what danger may be to yourself in 
offering it, would have sent you to the spot, whatever might 
have been the consequence. 

There is another incident of the ludicrous, which I am 
almost ashamed to mention — it may bear the appearance of 
levity — far from such is my intention in any part of this letter. 
One side of our churchyard is bounded by an orchard, into 
which it so happened a poor ass had strayed, and either 
not liking his quarters, or being weather-wise, or from some 
cause or other, at the very moment, mind you, that I was in 
the pulpit, and had just uttered the words, " Let us pray," 
set up such a hideous and continued braying, that half the 
congregation were on the laugh or in the titters. It would 
almost seem as if the animal had mistaken the doubtful let- 
ters, or, I 'should say, letters of affinity, and had followed an 
injunction, that, in the eyes of the congregation, put us on an 
affinity. Now, Eusebius, you know you could not have borne 
this ; you would have burst out, and tossed your sermon-case 
in the air ; and though they had been the heaviest of dis- 
courses — the " sermones repentes per humum " — they would 
have risen " fugitive pieces," and been lost as the sibyl's 
leaves. Your detestation of hypocrisy would, I fear, have 
sometimes led you into imprudences. All is not gold that 
glitters ; true, but if we handle brass too roughly to show its 
tarnish, we are not the better pleased with the odour of our 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 27 

own hands. I will tell you of a beggar that came to my door, 
and his presumption in begging — but I will contrast him with 
another character — every parish has its " ne'er-do-weels." 
There is a great difference, however, in rogues. There is 
your honest rogue, who will do you a good turn, and always 
remembers a kindness ; there is the dishonest rogue — he is a 
hypocrite. One of the former kind was working for a friend 
of mine, who told me the dialogue that passed between them. 
" How comes it, John, that you're no better off — you're a 
handy fellow enough, but it seems you're one of the poorest, 
and never did yourself much good?" — " Why, I'll tell you 
what it is, sir. I was as honest a veller as any in the parish, 
but I don't know how 'twere, but I were always poor ; and so 
says I to myself, John, this won't do, thee must make a 
change ; and so, sir, I took to stealing a bit — warn't particular, 
a duck or a goose or some such matter — and then I fell into 
poaching, and then I got into jail, and somehow or other I 
got out o't ; and then said I to myself, John, this won't do 
neither — thee must change again." — " Well, John, and what 
then? " — " Why, sir, now I do mix it." This now was an 
honest rogue, or "indifferent honest." Bat take the other 
rogue ; he, too, affected his honesty, and yet was a hypocrite. 
A man called at my door one Sunday evening, mark you the 
day, and sent me in a written paper, containing the confession 
of his sins ; that he had committed many more than were 
down in that paper, that were too bad to mention, that he had 
been drummed out of one or two regiments, and had been a 
most incorrigible scoundrel ; now note the rest, up to last 
Thursday, that then, happening to go into the meeting- 
house at , he heard a discourse from the Kev. Mr D. the 

minister, and came out a " converted man." This was liter- 
ally as I tell it to you. I let him know, that considering he 
had committed so many crimes, and had been drummed out 
of regiments, I would take care that he should be whipt out 



28 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

of the parish if found in it a quarter of an hour after my 
notice. Now, my dear Eusebius, I had no right to do this, 
and probably not to say this, but I fear you would have taken 
the office of beadle into your own hands, and not forgotten 
the staff. I well recollect when I first came into the parish 
(shall I describe the first day ? no I won't, I have my reasons). 
As I said, when I first came into the parish, a mumping old 
woman came up to me to try what she could get from me. 
She hoped I was " one of the heaven-sent ministers. " May 
I be forgiven ! I said I was sent by the Eector. Finding that 
would not do, she boldly begged, and boasted how much she 
had received from my predecessor. " Pray," said I, " tell 
me what will satisfy you ? " and I put on such an air of bene- 
volent simplicity, that for once my own hypocrisy served me 
instead of argument, and I took her in. She thought I was 
in a most giving mood. " Tell me," said I, " what will 
satisfy you ? " — " Why, your honour, the rames of a duck or 
a fowl two or three times a- week, and a shilling now and 
then ; " and I counted up the number of poor equal claimants, 
and number of ducks and fowls required per week. But I 
must do justice to the poor, and say that, in general, they are 
very thankful for attentions, and for any little matter given, 
and that they are by no means like that mumping old woman. 
Nothing pleases them more than sitting down in their 
cottages with them, and talking to them, not formally, 
but in an easy familiar manner, illustrating what you say by 
objects and things around you. If they do not suspect you 
are " lecturing," they like being led on to think and reason, 
and put in their own arguments. It is a wicked falsehood, 
that the clergy are not greatly respected. It must, you may 
be sure, take a long time and systematic villany at all to suc- 
ceed in removing the respect that parishioners, particularly 
the poorer, have for their clergy. They talk to their clergy 
in a way that no other class of persons do ; and even those 



AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 29 

who are not of the good of the flock, feel abashed and checked 
under the clergyman's eye, and thus pay homage to what they 
conceive to be religion and virtue ; and even these, if they 
want advice, notwithstanding the sense of their own shame, 
to whom do they go ? They all think the clergyman is the 
poor man's friend one way or another ; and they are certainly 
jealous of his duty being infringed upon by any one else ; 
they won't let others talk to them as the clergyman does. 
They become impatient and peevish — to lecture, advise, or 
anything they look upon as approaching it, is, in their eyes, 
like claiming a superior authority over them. They admit 
this in the clergyman, but are not easily brought to like it in 
another, and this is the reason that all the Dissenters give 
themselves the religions distinction of authority, and call 
themselves reverend. I have recently had instances of this 
dislike. I was obliged. to be absent a few days, and as the 
wife of a farmer had been long ill, and her life was very pre- 
carious, I requested Mrs to visit her. She did so ; but 

the woman was cold to her, and almost sullen. Mrs was 

well qualified to discourse " seriously " with her ; she did 
so, and read to her with much zeal, animation, and piety. 
Only once the woman seemed to take any notice, and then 

she seemed inclined to speak herself. Mrs paused, when 

the woman looked her in the face, and said " Do ye ever 
make use of any geese, because I've vifteen, and may be you'll 
take one a-week?" 

The poor woman did not live a month ; I saw her die, 
and must notice how easy death seemed to be to her. She 
was in bed, leaning her head upon her hand, the arm raised 
and resting on the elbow — she was sound asleep, gently 
snoring — her breathing suddenly ceased for a second or two, 
then returned once or twice so, and returned not again ; and 
it was only by the cessation we knew she was dead ; the 
position and the features remained unaltered. 



30 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

But I was speaking of instances of dislike or coldness to 
religious conversation in general, excepting from the clergy- 
man. The other instance leaves no pleasant impression per- 
haps ; but I tell it as it happened. A man had met with an 
accident, from which he fell into an illness likely to be soon 
fatal. A good servant of mine went to him often, and on 
one occasion told him he ought to pray very earnestly. He 
shocked the visitor by saying peevishly, " I do pray to the 
Lord as hard as I can ; and if the Lord won't take that, I 
can't do no more." I mention this to show the difference ; 
for when I visited him, as I did before and subsequently, 
he was the humblest of the humble. Let us not be uncharit- 
able — a moment of pain, of distressing anxiety for those 
he might leave behind him, must not be taken to show 
the man ; but at that time the language sounds coarser 
in our ears than was his meaning. It is a good rule, 
"judge not." 

On my return after the temporary absence I have just 
mentioned, I was led, rather malapropos, from the sorrowful 
aspect of a parishioner, into a mistake. I found the black- 
smith had buried his wife. He was leaning against his 
door, looking very dejected, when I accosted him, and told 
him I was sorry for his loss. " 'Tis a great loss," said he, 
" surely." I reminded him that it was inevitable that we 
should lose those dear to us, or they us ; and that the condi- 
tion He did not let me finish my sentence, but broke forth, 

with energy, " Oh, dang it, 't'aint she ! I don't care for 
she; but they've took away all her things." I did not 
think, or I ought not to have thought, he had great reason to 
care for her, but seeing him so dejected, I did not know but 
that habit had made him feel her loss. It seems her rela- 
tions had come to the funeral, and having possession of the 
room, had rifled the boxes. 



CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 31 

I have often noted a difference in the sympathy with the 
dying in the rich and in the poor. With the former, there is 
generally great caution used that the sick should not think 
themselves going ; if it is to be discovered, it is rather in a 
more delicate attention, a more affectionate look, which the 
sick cannot at all times distinguish from the ordinary man- 
ner. The poor, on the contrary, tell the sick at once, and 
without any circumlocution, that they never will get over it. 
Is it that the shock is less to the poor, that they have fewer 
objects in this world for which life might be desirable ? But 
this is sometimes dangerous. I was once going to visit a 
poor woman, and met the parish surgeon, and inquired for 
his patient. He told me the room was full of friends and 
neighbours, all telling her she couldn't last long ; and, said 
he, "I make no doubt she will not, for she is sinking, because 
she thinks she is dying ; yet I see no other reason why she 
should, and I could not get one to leave the room." I 
entered ; my authority had a better effect. I turned all but 
one out of the room, and then addressed the woman, who was 
apparently exhausted and speechless. I told her exactly 
what the surgeon had said, and that she would not die, but 
be restored to her children and husband. The woman posi- 
tively started, raised herself in bed, and said, with an energy 
of which I did not think her capable, " What ! am I not 
dying ? shan't I die ? — No ! then thank the Lord, I shan't 
die." I gave strict orders that none should be admitted — 
and the woman did recover, and has often thanked me for 
having saved her life. Clergymen should be aware of this 
propensity in the poor, that, when mischievous, they may 
counteract it. 

I have written, my dear friend, a long letter. I will not, 
ad infinitum, lay before you parochial details. Perhaps yon 
will see from what I have written, that many things must 



32 CHURCH MUSIC, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

occur that do not, previously to undertaking parochial charge, 
enter into the imagination of a curate. However difficult it 
may be to " know yourself," I have taken some pains that you 
should know something about a parish ; for which, notwith- 
standing that you are really zealous, sincere, generous, and 
pious, I must say, I think, for the reasons given, you are 
unqualified. Should you still doubt, question me as you 
please, and I will answer you with all sincerity. 

Your affectionate Friend. 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAKOCHIALS. 

[MAY 1837.] 

Your reply, my dear Eusebius, lias not at all surprised me. 
You tell me that my account of parochial matters first made 
you laugh very heartily, and then made you very sad ; and 

had you been curate of , what effect would the incidents 

themselves have had upon you ? precisely the same as the 
narration, — excepting that the scene of your immoderate 
mirth, if not of your sorrow, would have been one not quite 
so safe as that closed library, where, though it be full of 
information, there are no informers, and from which you date 
your letter. And I doubt if you would not have had more 
real occasion for your subsequent sadness. I am aware that 
to many, the parochial memorabilia might appear over- 
charged or feigned — but it is not so. I have often heard 
you say, that Truth beats Fiction all the world over — and 
you are right. More extraordinary things happen than ima- 
gination can well conceive, and happen every day too, in all 
cities, in all villages, and in most families ; but they often 
are the results of progressive action, and intermixed with 
everyday proceedings, and are not therefore collected at once, 
and to the immediate point of their oddity, or of their pathos. 
The novelist, the tragedian, and the comedian, by the mere 
power of separation and omission, of all that does not bear 



34 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

upon the chief incident to be enforced, excite in us most 
wonderful emotion ; but only so long as they keep within the 
bounds of nature. A few facts may be collected, and but a 
few, considering that every moment of life is teeming with 
them — they are the stock for all writers ; but, my dear 
Eusebius, I believe the absolute invention of them to be very 
rare. And here, I must observe, that a great part of man- 
kind suffer things to pass before their very eyes, without 
their seeing them, in their exact and true bearing. How 
many even educated persons do you not daily meet with, who 
are totally deficient in any perception of wit, or even of the 
more broad ridiculous ? I know one whole family, consisting 
of many individuals, to whom, on my first acquaintance, I 
appeared very disadvantageously, from their utter miscon- 
ception of my meaning, when I spoke facetiously, and ad 
absurdum. It must be very broad farce, indeed, that can 
move any given mass. Think but for a moment of the mum- 
meries and absurdities that fanaticism will invest with serious- 
ness. I have seen the puppet-show, from the habit of attrac- 
tion, employed as an adjunct to divinity. Where ? it will be 
asked wherever I make the assertion. Then the matter of 
fact will prove it. Many years ago I was at Milan on Christ- 
mas day ; while the service was going on within the Duomo, 
immediately before it on the outside was a common itinerant 
Punch puppet-show, in which was enacted, in imitation of the 
choice of Hercules, the Young Man's Temptation and Choice. 
He was between the devil (as commonly represented) and the 
Saviour. Had this appeared a ridicule and a blasphemy, in 
the eyes of common spectators, the authorities would not have 
permitted the exhibition. I once watched a man at Venice 
on a little bridge near St Marc's Place, walking backwards 
and forwards, entreating the passers-by to take the advantage 
of praying to his most excellent Lady, whom he exhibited in 
his little portable chapel, which he had set up. He had 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 35 

little success — he became irritated — shook his fist at " Our 
Lady," calling her by all sorts of abusive names, which, 
though some may have fancied sounded very well in Italian, 
will not bear translation, and slammed the door in her face ; 
many passed — nobody laughed, and nobody seemed shocked. 
Did you ever, Eusebius, look into the books describing the 
virtues of particular saints, pretty common in all Italian vil- 
lages ? — particularly of the local Madonnas — with full and 
particular accounts of the cures for which they are celebrated ? 
The worldly-wise authority that allows and promotes their 
dissemination, knows very well the extent of all that is ab- 
surd, that yet will be taken for sober serious truths, and that 
the faculty of a perception of the ridiculous is not the one 
which they have to fear. What, in fact, are these innumerable 
saints, but the old heathen deities, mountain-nymphs, and 
water-nymphs, and Pan, and all the monstrous progeny that 
possessed the land in heathen times, new-breeched, petti • 
coated, and calendered, and impiously set up by their priest- 
hood, in partnership as it were with the one, the only Media- 
tor ? Once travelling from Naples to Kome by vetturino, as 
it was somewhat late, and the road had a bad reputation on 
account of frequent robberies, I urged the driver to make more 
speed: "Pense niente," said he, shaking his finger, and im- 
mediately handed me a paper, which, on opening, I found to 
be a receipt in form of a payment to a certain convent, and, 
in consequence, a regular insurance from all evils that beset 
travellers. There were portraits of saints, and on each side 
of the receipt, prints representing the different states of pur- 
gatory, and the souls released by the contribution of the 
pious. The paper further stated, that the insured, even 
though under the knife of the assassin, would be nevertheless 
safe, inasmuch as the souls released from purgatory would 
pray to all the saints in heaven for a rescue. No one laughed 
at this ; but when I stated that i" was not insured, and that 



36 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

I thought it safest for me to pay him my fare, and called 
witnesses to the payment, I did see a mouth curl into a smile, 
but I am by no means sure that it was not in contempt of 
my incredulity. 

Here am I, in the midst of my travels, Eusebius, when, 
according to the modern public determination to enforce 
strict residence, I ought to be in my own parish, and there I 
will be in a few minutes. Yet I must compliment Lord 
Brougham a moment upon his very liberal view of clerical 
imprisonment, to be found in his bill. It did occur to me at 
the time he brought it forward, that as he was then keeper 
of the King's conscience, another bill should have been 
brought in, enforcing with precisely the same strictness, the 
Chancellor's adjunction to his Majesty's side, to insure more 
perpetual political "ear-whiggery," and inviting, as informers 
and inspectors of the Siamese adhesion, every attendant and 
domestic of the palaces, from the Lords of the Bedchamber 
to the lacqueys and runners. If anything could have induced 
a pity for the poor good King William the Fourth, in the 
hearts of his refractory and radical subjects, it would have 
been that lamentable predicament — and with such an anti- 
pathy existing ! And how would Lord Brougham have 
relished the position to which he would have brought the 
clergy ? But the attempt to make not only our parishioners, 
but the very servants in our houses, spies and evidences as 
to how many successive nights in the year our heads have 
rested on the parochial pillow, could only have arisen from a 
mind atrociously gifted with liberality. The Whigs hate the 
clergy, that is the truth of the matter ; they think they owe 
us a spite ; and if they are themselves at all deficient in that 
article, their friends the Dissenters will readily subscribe for 
prompt payment. Since I have heard, my dear Eusebius, 
of your intention to become a resident curate, I have much 
wondered what would have been your answer to Mr Lister's 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 37 

notable Letter of Bequests, especially that request touching 
the not troubling him in reply with any matter not relating 
to the registry queries. You would, if I mistake not, have 
told him he was a very impertinent fellow, and so were those 
who put him in his office, to lecture you, and forward his 
insolent requests, one of which is, that you act as his petti- 
fogging attorney to dun your churchwardens for seventeen 
shillings ; and having given him honestly a piece of your 
mind, his requests would have been in the fire in a moment, 
though we are requested to keep them, as the following ex- 
tract will show : " I must also point out to you, that inas- 
much as it cannot be calculated at what period the register- 
books and forms herewith sent to you will be filled, it is 
necessary that you should give timely notice (that is to say, 
three months beforehand), by letter addressed to me, when a 
further supply will be required. I request you to keep this 
letter with the register-books, in order that it may be con- 
signed with them to the officiating minister by whom you 
may be succeeded." 

Every man thinks every man mortal but himself, they 
say ; so it is, we conjecture, with Mr Lister. He intends to 
survive all the present generation of the clergy, and hold 
official communication with their successors. Perhaps he 
has an eye to future church dangers, and, like the prudent 
insurance-offices, will not risk upon the lives of the clergy ; 
or, perhaps, with more modest views of his own vitality, he 
looks to another kind of succession, and that his requests, and 
the parish registers, and the parish churches, too, are to be 
handed over to his friends the Dissenters. Now, Eusebius, 
you will have, when one of us honoured clergy, to be the 
servant to the superintendent-registrar of your district, 
resident, perhaps, ten miles from you, to whom every three 
months you are to deliver certified copies of the entries in 
the register-books. Off you must trudge every quarter your 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AXD OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

ten miles -with your copies, under penalty of being found 
guilty of misdemeanour, and appear before the Grand Lama, 
the deputy-registrar, who will say, when he is at leisure to 
attend to you, " Stand, and deliver ! " My dear friend, pause 
a moment — you will surely be guilty of a misdemeanour ; 
and all your parishioners do not know that the pillory is done 
away with, and will, if they owe you a spite for laughing, 
think themselves entitled to throw rotten eggs at you, in 
anticipation of the sentence of the court. In the first place, 
you will never know the quarter-clay ; in the next place, if 
told, you would receive the intimation as an indignity ; and 
should you find yourself by accident or mistake before the 
great deputy-registrar, you would so bethink you of " my 
Lord Marquis of Carabas''' and Puss in Boots, or some other 
nursery or whimsical tale, that you would laugh in his face, 
and fling your copy to the winds — and would that be safe ? 
Have they not nowadays, contiguous parochial bastiles ; 
and where would you be ? And if there but for a visit, how 
would you pity the poor inmates that must not have a window 
that looks out upon the blessed green fields, nor their own 
crony Mends to look in upon them? And would not you 
tell them all, that it is a sin and a shame to separate man 
and wife — for they were married upon Christian terms, " that 
no man should put asunder those whom God hath joined 
together?" You would point out that our present marriage- 
service says truly, " For be ye well assured, that so many as 
are coupled together otherwise than God's word doth allow, 
are not joined together by God ; neither is their matri- 
mony lawful." You would tell the people that they were no 
longer necessarily to be joined together by God, that there 
might be a better pretext for separating them. You will 
certainly, Eusebius, when it comes to the point, be taken 
up as an incendiary. Words burnt Bristol : and, my dear 
friend, yours are occasionally the " thoughts that breathe, and 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 39 

words that burn." You never will mince matters even with 
an Act of Parliament that blows hot and cold — that authorises 
two contradictory things — First, That people may be coupled 
together without God's word at all, and their matrimony be 
lawful ; and, secondly, That you should be required solemnly 
to declare, at the altar, that all such marriages are " unlaw- 
ful" — that is, you are bound to declare that to be unlawful 
which the same act that so binds you (for you have no other 
form given) makes lawful. My dear friend, you have too 
strange and too free a spirit for these things. I fear you, 
with many of us, will be open to the malice of the base and 
mean minded, who are ready to take advantage of all our 
slips, inadvertencies, and omissions ; those who, with the 
plea of conscience for urging all these changes, will have no 
respect for yours or mine. I should say that the deputy- 
registrars are not, in respect of marriage, treated much better 
than the clergy, for they are bound to make and attest as a 
civil contract, merely that which their consciences tell them 
should be a religious contract, unless it be intended by this 
very clause in the Marriage Act to give a monopoly of the 
office to Dissenters. Now, Eusebius, you will have to ask 
very impertinent questions yourself, which I am confident 
you never can do ; for every woman that presents herself at 
the altar to be married must be asked her age, which all do 
not like to tell, and you must (a very odd thing indeed) tell, 
I know not how you are to learn it, " her condition" not 
meaning her rank or profession, which forms the next item 
you are to put down for the information of the Deputy - 
Kegistrar. I am sure I cannot tell what any lady's or others' 
condition may be, nor am I very curious to know what has 
been her profession previous to marriage ; but suppose all 
this settled somehow or other, with or without odium to the 
questioner, you will have other scrutinies to make, that I am 
sure your delicacy will shrink from ; and yet yon will not 



40 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHEK PAROCHIALS. 

relish the certifying to anything yon do not know. Yet you 
are required to certify, " that you have on such a day baptised 
a male child produced to you," &c. ; and that some difficulty 
may be put in the way of infant baptisms, which are by this 
Act discouraged, the poor, who now pay nothing, will have 
to pay one shilling. Take great care in your touching these 
precious registers of Mr Lister's, for if you soil them you will 
be subjected to a heavy pecuniary fine ; you, in mockery, will 
furnish yourself with a pair of silver tongs. In short, my 
dear Eusebius, you will expose all this legislative folly in a 
thousand ways, and perhaps make a foot-ball of the Whig 
enactments at the church porch, and render yourself an ob- 
ject on whom authorities may exercise a vindictive tyranny. 
You tell me that you have been giving some attention to 
the study of medicine, that you may be useful to the poor. 
I fear you vainly flatter yourself : although, now that the 
poor are farmed out at a few farthings per head — a price 
at which none but the lowest of the profession can come for- 
ward, or those who look upon the advantage thereby offered 
of subjects for experiment, I am not surprised that one so 
humane as yourself should think some medical knowledge 
requisite in the clergy, to prevent the effects of this cruelty 
of the Poor-Law Commissioner; and yet your knowledge 
will gain you no credit. You will have powerful rivals, who 
will think you encroach upon their privileges ; and should 
you practise largely, and prevail on the sick to take your 
remedies, before you have been long in the parish, you will 
find many a death put down at your door, as a sin and a 
shame. Do you think (to say nothing of neighbouring 
Ladies Bountiful) that the old village crones will quietly 
give up the sovereign virtue of their simples, their oils, their 
extracts, their profits, and their prescriptive right of killing 
their neighbours after the old fashion, to please a curate, and 
one of such vagaries, they will add ? Infants will still die of 



41 



gin and Daffy's Elixir, and the wonder will be pretty widely 
circulated that yon are not haunted by their ghosts. And 
should you quit the parish, and visit it again after many 
years, depend upon it, though from a different cause, you will 
have as much reason as Gil Bias had, when he came in sight 
of Valladolid, to sigh and say, " Alas, there I practised 
physic." And, besides these old crones, you will have 
opponents you wot not of. There is the cunning man within 
a few miles of you, who has a wonderful practice ; there is 
the itinerant herbalist, and the drunken hedge-doctor, who 
entitles himself M.D., and talks volubly of the ignorance of 
professional men in general. There was such an one recently 
in this neighbourhood, who might have made a fortune among 
the farmers' wives, from five-shilling fees, had he known how 
to keep them. He had a sure method : he used to frequent 
the village shop, and converse half familiarly, and half learn- 
edly, with the incomers ; and frequently when a proper dupe 
left the shop, he used to remark to the bystanders, that he 
could see by that person's complexion, interlarding unintel- 
ligible words, that he or she was going into a dropsy, and 
sometimes a disease whose name the poor ignorant creatures 
never heard of, taking care to be always intelligible in the 
main point, that he could avert the dreadful malady. From 
this ingenuity he had much practice, and acquired a reputa- 
tion for wonderful cures. But, oh ! Eusebius, the cruel 
herbalist, I never can forget that man, nor the sight he 
showed rne. The case was this : the sexton's wife was 
suffering from a cancer ; I interested myself much about her, 
and made interest with my friend, a most able surgeon, and 
humane, sensible man, to see her ; he did so, and told me 
nothing could be done for her then, but to retard the pro- 
gress of the disease. In this state she put herself under the 
travelling herbalist. He very soon made a horrible wound, 
and promised a cure in a few weeks, receiving as earnest- 



42 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

money about forty shillings. She suffered dreadful tortures 
from his corroding applications ; but, clinging to life, endured 
all in hope of a cure. I desired to be sent for at his next 
visit. In a few days I met him in the sick-room, and told him 
he was attempting impossibilities, and inflicting unnecessary 
pain. He removed the cloths, bared her side, and roughly 
pulled out a quantity of tow, which he had thrust into the 
wound — a deep hole, which seemed to enter her very vitals — 
and put it in again, saying that he would forfeit his life if 
he did not entirely cure her. I told him he was working 
at his peril. If he cured her, I would take care that his 
name should be celebrated, and the cure well known ; but 
that if he failed, I would try to the utmost to punish him. 
He merely replied, that he would forfeit his life if he failed. 
The poor creature did not live a week after this. I consulted 
my medical friend as to the best mode of punishing the man, 
and to my surprise learnt that he was protected by law, if 
he could show that he had practised so many years, and that 
I could do nothing with him. Did the herbalist natter him- 
self into a belief of probable success ? It is charitable to 
hope he did ; and I now should be more willing to entertain 
such a hope, as I have heard that the man has been found 
murdered under a hedge. But the poor ought to be protected 
from ignorance and presumption — the poor particularly, for 
they are totally unable to distinguish real merit from rash 
pretensions in any medical practitioner. Speaking of this 
horrible disease, I must mention, that a very old man in the 
parish had one in his lip, which was so slow in its progress, 
that he at last died of extreme old age, and not of the dis- 
order : he was stone deaf. I knew a case in which a very 
celebrated man in London acted very indiscreetly. The gen- 
tleman underwent an operation, and it was removed from his 
lip. I met him very shortly after, and he appeared quite 
well, and in high spirits ; in a day or two after, he felt a 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 43 

little irritation in his lip, and instantly went to London to an 
eminent surgeon, who advised him to apply to a medical 
man in his own place, to whom he gave him a letter. This 
was an injudicious step — for the poor man travelling more 
than a hundred miles with this letter in his pocket, could 
not resist the temptation of opening the letter, that he might 
study in the meanwhile his best means of a cure — when, 
what was his horror to find the letter consigned him indeed 
to the care of a medical practitioner, but without the slightest 
hope, and more unfortunately still, expressed the tortures, as 
well as the death to which the disease would shortly subject 
him. On his arrival home, he shut himself up, tried to be 
resigned to his fate, never left his room again, and died in 
great agonies. There is also the cattle- doctor, who often 
arrives at considerable celebrity ; and from his habit of prac- 
tising upon brutes, has acquired wonderful decision. Our 
carpenter had cut his thumb sadly ; the cattle-doctor hap- 
pened to be near, and was sent for to dress it ; but with the 
greatest seeming indifference, he whipped out his knife and 
cut it off entirely. The man was a carpenter, and it would 
have been unquestionably proper to have tried to save it. 
But decision had been acquired, and excision is akin to it. 

" The wind in the east, 
Is neither good for man nor beast," 

is a common saying ; hence the ignorant conclude, that 
if what is bad for man is bad for beast, so what is good for 
beast is good for man. A poor small farmer, seeing a quan- 
tity of turpentine administered to his cow, fancied soon 
afterwards that it would cure him ; and not being particular 
in the quantity, took half-a-pint, which killed him. This 
was bad enough ; but there was something ludicrous in the 
tragical catastrophe of the next case. Another farmer, of 
great experience, upon which he prided himself, and who, 
though not professional, was an amateur cow-doctor, was 



44 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAKOCHIALS. 

taken very ill with internal inflammation. Having suffered 
great agonies, his family insisted upon sending for medical 
aid ; but, alas ! the poor man tasked his own experience 
before the medical man arrived. When he entered the room, 
the farmer was out of pain, and said he never was better in 
his life, adding, " Now, sir, as I have a liking to you, and 
always had, I'll just tell ye how I cured myself. I ha' given 
it to many a cow ; and I'll tell thee the remedy, as it may 
be of use to you in your practice." He then detailed such 
horrible items of inflammatory and combustible substances, as 
I will not venture to put down on paper. The fact was, that 
mortification had immediately resulted from the dose, and in 
a few hours he was no more. Had you been there, Eusebius, 
and prevailed upon the poor fellow, in that state, to have 
taken the most simple matter, all his family would have said 
how well he was till he took your medicine. " Throw physic 
to the dogs," Eusebius, for I am quite sure yours will never 
do for man, woman, nor child. 

Nothing is more striking to a minister, and oftentimes 
nothing more disheartening, than the indifference with which 
his parishioners meet death. It is rarely that one expresses 
a strong desire to live. The very persons whom you would 
expect to see most alarmed, or most desirous of life, are 
often the least so. I should generally conclude, that the pre- 
sence of the clergyman is more advantageous to the relatives 
than the sick. Besides the great debility of sickness inca- 
pacitating the dying from any mental exertion, there is the 
gradual loss of senses, and the wretchedness of extreme old 
age, when the sight and hearing have long since failed. 
Deafness is so extremely common in rural parishes, that it is 
one of the greatest obstacles to making the impression we 
would wish. And, let me add, that there is something so 
ludicrous, and apparently irreligious in uttering solemn warn- 
ings, and truths, and texts of Scripture, in a voice at its 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 45 

utmost stretch, that you often shrink from the attempt. 
Poor people have universally one remark, when you point 
out to them how little good you can do, when the sick have 
from age or other infirmity lost all sense of hearing and 
understanding — "The prayer of a righteous man availeth 
much," is the constant reply. Where there is this supersti- 
tion, I should think it proper to withhold prayer, certainly 
such as the sick may be supposed to hear, and direct a lecture 
and discourse to the attendants on the sick-bed ; and I think 
it right, on such occasions, to call up as many of the family 
and friends as may be collected. I knew one instance of a 
man who prayed very fervently to live a little longer. He 
had been a labouring man — and for a labouring man, " pretty 
well to do." He had never had sickness ; was strong, stout, 
and hale ; of perhaps seventy-two or seventy-three years of 
age. He then had a paralytic attack, and sent for me. He 
continued in a doubtful state some time. At every visit I 
paid him, he earnestly prayed, and hoped to be allowed once 
more to sit in the sun before his cottage-door, and then he 
would be so thankful, and so good ! How seldom are these 
self-formed resolutions of much avail ! He was able to sit 
and sun himself at his cottage-door, and often did I sit there 
with him, and remind him how he had prayed for that as a 
blessing, and that it had been granted. But by degrees I 
found him pass from silence to sullenness. I was evidently 
not a welcome visitor. He was enabled to do more than sun 
himself at his door — he was able to walk about his little 
garden. At length I observed that, as I entered his cottage, 
he would make his escape at another door. On one occa- 
sion, his wife, nearly his own age, shut the door by which he 
would have escaped, purposely, so that he had no help for 
it but to seat himself sullenly in his chimney-corner, and 
endure my presence. I saw him, as he thought unobserved, 
clench his aged fist at his wife, and put on an expression of 



46 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHJALS. 

imbecile malignity. This a little roused the old woman, who 
told him he was a bad man, and had bad friends — that he 
had better listen to the parson. This put me on the inquiry ; 
but first I questioned him as to what could be the cause of 
his change, — did he not believe as he formerly did ? He did 
not know that he did ; all he knew was, that some people 
believed very differently, and he did not see what great harm 
he had ever done, and he was not afraid to die. Upon in- 
quiry, I then found that a workman had come out from the 
neighbouring town, and having work to do at a gentleman's 
house about a mile off, had taken lodgings within a few doors 
of this poor cottager. The old woman said he called him- 
self a " Sinian ;" and I verily believe she thought it meant 
an encourager of sin : " and a' reads a book here," said she, 
" that nobody can't understand ; but that there's no wicked 
place for ever and ever ; and a pack o' things that ha' turned 
his senses topsyturvy ; and I knows it can't be good, for he 
ain't no longer kind like to me." This account gave me 
great pain ; mischief was doing all around me, and how hard 
to combat ! It is very unpardonable to shake the faith of 
the aged, and remove from them, in their last days of pain, 
sickness, bodily and mental infirmity, their only solace, a 
Christian hope. I wish that those who do so would first 
consider, if, in uprooting all from the heart, they find the 
soil really fit for the new seed they would throw in. Ten 
to one that they leave nothing but entire barrenness and 
desolation — and all for what ? To make a worthless prose- 
lyte to philosophy, and to divinity without mediation, when 
they, who would thus new-engraft the old tree, do not believe- 
that it is essential to the safety of their convert, that they 
should believe otherwise than they have been wont to be- 
lieve. Not very long after this the man had another seizure. 
He then, himself, anxiously sent for me. He cried like a 
child — and was in all respects, perhaps, as weak as one. I 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 47 

was much struck with the contrast of the mental imbecility 
in his whole expression, and the yet remaining sturdiness of 
constitution in his appearance : he did not look very ill, and 
though at so advanced an age, he had not a white hair, but 
a strong, dark, curly head, as if he were not more than 
thirty. That was my last visit — he died. 

There is not a human being who would more rejoice in 
the innocent mirth of others, than you, my dear Eusebius, 
but when the sot, the profligate, the idle, meet for revel, 
" there is death in the pot." How lamentable and how awful 
is the following : A man of education, and of one of the 
learned professions, and of considerable talent, became, after 
various degrees of misconduct, greatly embarrassed in circum- 
stances, and entirely lost his rank in society, and his reputa- 
tion. I believe he had no means but the annuity of a woman 
with whom he lived. They took a house in my parish. Cut 
off from better society, to which they were born, they still 
found many among the villagers willing to idle away unpro- 
fitable hours with them, especially when the temptation of 
drowning care was proposed. On one such occasion no very 
small party was assembled. I think there was dancing ; 
there certainly was much intoxication. A common mason 
was among the number, and in the course of the night he 
was carried up into a room and laid on a bed. After an 
hour or two his wife went up to see him, and found him — 
dead. I know not what immediately passed, but the end of 
the night's revel was the death of three persons ; at least I 
so concluded. The man above mentioned who gave the 
feast, did not long survive. I cannot state the precise time, 
but very ill he was. A fever came on. In his last illness — 
the last day — he addressed a person thus : " They think 
I'm an unbeliever, but I am not, and should like to see the 
clergyman." I went ; but I was not allowed to see him. 
Very soon after this a middle-aged woman who attended him 



48 



as a sort of nurse, was seized with the same fever, which 
took her off in a very short time. Not a very long time 
after, one of that party died of " delirium tremens," brought 
on by habitual intoxication. But the poor woman who, as I 
mentioned, acted the part of nurse, took the matter very ill 
when apprised of her danger. She was almost the only one 
I knew that expressed much horror at dying. This person 
had before come under my observation immediately upon my 
first entering upon the curacy, and in a manner that had some- 
thing of the ludicrous in it. I had been called to attend her 
mother, a very old woman, the widow of a small farmer. 
She was then in a dying state ; but I should conclude she 
had been a gossiping, curious woman, and retained her 
ruling passion, curiosity, strong in death. The first time I 
visited her I was accompanied by my wife. I suppose the 
people in the house saw us coming, and announced it to her. 
I talked to her some time ; and as my words became more 
serious, as suiting the solemn occasion of a death-bed, for 
such it was, the old dame appeared restless, and was rather 
trying to look than looking about her, till at length she 
interrupted me querulously thus : " I do want to see the 
parson's wife." My wife came forward, bent towards her, 
and said some soft or gentle thing, as women, and parsons' 
wives particularly, know best how to say ; when the old 
lady, looking with evident curiosity, said, " What ! you the 
parson's wife ? such a little bit of a thing as you? " Now, 
my wife is of a middle size ; but in her second childhood the 
poor old creature always thinking the parson and his wife to 
be the first, and in that sense the biggest people in the parish, 
concluded their bodily magnitude must be equivalent to that 
of prize oxen. The daughter followed us to the door, then into 
the road, repeating at every other step : " Oh, sir, I'll never 
forget the Lord." I looked back after I had gone a little 
way, and there was she standing, and speaking. I thought 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 49 

she had something to say, and went back — she only made a 
drop, but not at all like Goldsmith's " mutilated curtsey," and 
repeated again : " Oh no, sir, I never, never will forget the 
Lord ! " And this was the poor woman who was so rapidly 
taken off by that fever. 

The effect of fever which I am about to mention is pro- 
bably very well known to medical men, but to me it was 
strange, and I shall not easily forget it, for the case had 
another interest. The wife of a tailor, a handsome young 
woman, about six or seven and twenty years of age, was 
considered dying when I entered the room ; the fever was 
very high, and she somewhat rallied her strength. I was 
standing at the bed-side ; she made a tremulous sort of 
noise, that in a few seconds had a termination and began 
again, and so on incessantly. It was most like the cooing 
of a dove ; she was all the while very busy moving about 
her tongue, and rolling the saliva into little balls, like small 
shot, which she then passed over her lips in a very extra- 
ordinary manner. Her husband, poor man, was forced out 
of the room at the moment that she fell back exhausted ; I 
caught her as she fell, and gently laid her head upon the 
pillow. She however recovered. When I left the room, I 
found the ejected husband lying along in the passage, and 
listening to the smallest sound that might come from under 
the door. When he saw me come out he broke forth in an 
agony, " Oh, she is dead, she is dead." When I told him it 
was not so, he rapidly again laid his ear to the bottom of the 
door, that he might hear her breathe or speak. They were 
both favourites with me and my family. 

The inmates of the poor-house always consider them- 
selves more entitled than any others to the bounty and 
attention of the clergyman — and there is a familiarity estab- 
lished between the two parties, if the establishment be not 
very large, that is by no means disagreeable. At first, 



50 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

indeed, they would all complain sadly of being straitened 
by the parish ; I am speaking of the state under the old 
poor-laws. But I think a little mirth, and a light easy way 
of treating their ill-founded complaints, half-reasoning and 
half-bantering, greatly tends to put them in good humour 
with their condition. I so treated half-a-dozen old women 
in one of my early visits, by calculating for them their 
expenditure, and some of the items and their wants were 
whimsical enough ; I then called in an old man before them, 
and calculated his expenditure to meet his means — but, alas ! 
there was a penny a- week for shaving. I sent him out, and 
congratulated the old ladies (upon my word, a little against 
my conscience) that they had no beards, and consequently 
had the superabundance over their wants of a penny a- week 
for snuff as a luxury. Whether they were pleased at the 
discovery of their abundance, or at the flattery that they had 
no beards, I know not, but they laughed very heartily, and 
never complained afterwards. Now here, my dear Eusebius, 
I borrowed a leaf out of your book, for in some such manner 
you would have treated them. And yet I never found that 
these little familiarities in the least lessened respect, or pre- 
vented seriousness when requisite, from having its due effect, 
They were old stagers, and understood me very well, and 
always sent for me to settle their little disputes, and in all 
cases of emergency. 

One mumping old man would he in bed all day long, 
unless the weather was very fine ; and then he would get up 
and go about the roads begging. He was a white-headed 
old man, and would put on such a look of simplicity and 
respectability too, that showed he was formed by long 
habit for a mumper. Long did he try, in vain, to excite a 
little more commiseration from the parish officers, trying- 
hard for an additional sixpence per week at every parish 
meeting. The poor-house people sent in to me early one 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCH1ALS. 51 

morning to tell me that old William had cut his throat. 
Before I went in I made some strict inquiries into the affair, 
which convinced me that it was all sham, and to effect his 
purpose ; and in fact, there was no harm done, as none was 
intended. When I entered the room, he was leaning back 
on his bed, one or two good women holding his hands and 
applying a cloth to his neck, which had bled — a little. He 
affected a fainting and miserable look. I pretended not 
much to notice him, and in rather an upbraiding voice, and 
very loud, asked the inmates how they could think of pre- 
venting him — did they not know how much the parish would 
have gained had he effected his purpose, at the same time 
giving them a look they well understood. The mumper 
suddenly turned round his head to look at me, and forgot his 
fainting doleful expression directly ; and I shall never forget 
the look he gave me — it was one which told plainly that he 
directly knew he was detected, and it was succeeded by 
another which seemed to beg that I wouldn't betray him, and 
that he would do so no more. I often charged him with his 
real purpose, and he could not deny it. He never made 
another attempt. 

A curious incident once occurred to me, of which I never 
was able to solve the mystery. I was sent for to a man sup- 
posed to be dying on the road. I went, and found a strong, 
stout fellow, by the road-side, apparently in great pain. He 
was accompanied by another man and a boy, but the boy 
rather attended to some donkeys belonging to them than to 
the man ; the donkeys carried saddle-bags. I thought it 
colic, and sent to the house for some spirits and water, and 
remained, as did others of my family, by the man until he was 
able to proceed. He told me he came from some distance, 
and should pass by again in about a month. I was interested 
in knowing how he journeyed, and begged him to call and I 
would give him something ; but I never saw him till six 



52 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

months after, when I met him crossing the churchyard. He 
did not know me — declared he never saw me — never was in the 
parish before. " Why are you then," said I, " going through 
the churchyard, for it is no high-road, and leads only to places 
known to and frequented by parishioners ? " he gave me a 
surly answer, and went on. I found his donkeys on one side 
of the high-road at some distance from the churchyard, and 
the same boy watching them. I much regretted, and regret 
still, I did not contrive to find out what those bags contained. 
I have my suspicions that stolen goods, and plate particularly, 
are conveyed from place to place by such means. It was 
not long after this that there was a discovery of a communi- 
cation between some gangs of thieves and of plate sent from 
one distant city to another. If some of these carriers were 
watched, I cannot but think that discoveries would be made. 
Certainly if I had been disposed to be active and scratinising 
on this occasion, I could have placed very little trust in the 
constables — for one, a stout one too, happened to be in my 
house at work — when three sturdy fellows in that disgraceful 
state of more than half nudity, which we sometimes see about 
the roads — and why so suffered, I know not — came across my 
garden boldly up to the window begging. I refused to give 
them anything, when they insolently seated themselves on the 
grass plot before my window, folded their arms, and passed 
insolent jokes from one to the other. I told the constable to 
remove them, and if unable, to go for help. He refused, and 
said the magistrate of the place would be very angry with 
him if he did, for it would put the parish to expense. Con- 
stables, however, are not always wanted ; thieves sometimes 
catch themselves, as the following incident will show : A 
gentleman living not very far from me had his orchard repeat- 
edly robbed, and bidding defiance to prohibitory acts, had an 
old man-trap repaired, and set up in his orchard. The smith 
brought it home, and there was a consultation as to which 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 53 

tree it should be placed under ; several were proposed, as 
being all favourite bearers. At last the smith's suggestion as 
to the locus quo was adopted, and the man-trap set. But the 
position somehow or other did not please the master, and as 
tastes occasionally vary, so did his, and he bethought him 
of another tree, the fruit of which he should like above all 
things to preserve. Accordingly, scarcely had he laid his head 
upon his pillow when the change was determined on, and ere 
long the man-trap was transferred. Very early in the morn- 
ing the cries of a sufferer brought master and men into the 
orchard, and there they discovered — the Smith. 

It being unlawful to set man-traps and spring-guns, a 
gentleman once hit upon a happy device. He was a scholar, 
and being often asked the meaning of mysterious words com- 
pounded from the Greek, that flourish in every day's news- 
paper, and finding they always excited wonder by their length 
and terrible sound, he had painted on a board, and put up on his 
premises, in very large letters, the following — " Tondapamri- 
bomenos set up in these grounds ; " it was perfectly a "Patent 
Safety." We had one great knave whom I often wished to 
catch somehow or other, but I never could, though many a 
time I caught his donkey. He kept a donkey and a cow, 
without any pretension to keep either. However, as they 
did his work, and found him milk, he sent them forth to shift 
for themselves, and find free or make free quarters every- 
where. He taught them both to open gates with the greatest 
facility ; but the cow was the most accomplished of the two ; 
for where she found good provisions, she not only opened the 
gates, but had learned to shut them after her, that no other 
might intrude : a neighbour of mine caught her a dozen 
times, and declared his field was of little use to him. The 
donkey had a taste for orcharding, and the rascal at last 
became so delicate that he liked the smell of my flower-gar- 
den : and there, early in a morning, he was sure to be seen. 



54 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

He Las been driven out repeatedly, and observed to open the 
gate as if it bad been his own. The gate was tied, supposing 
that he must then be at a nonplus — not a bit of it. I have no 
doubt he went back to his master, and complained of being 
shut out j and though he could not then have opened the gate, 
still when the blackbird and thrush called me early to look 
out of the window, there was donkey, his feet on the flower- 
beds, smelling flowers, and listening to the blackbirds. He 
was worthy of Mahomet to have ridden him. 

Do not, however, suppose that we had a greater number 
of rogues than we were entitled to. There is a pretty good 
scattering everywhere. A most provoking piece of roguery 
occurred at a great funeral. The road not being in a good 
state, the undertaker asked permission for the hearse to go 
through my gate, and so through my orchard by my stable : 
it was readily granted. Yet in that short yet woeful pas- 
sage they contrived to steal a saddle. It is no wonder that 
I never heard of it more, for I believe it was stolen by a 
mute. While on the subject of stealing, I will not omit to 
make mention of a poor girl who called upon me for advice 
and for my prayers. She was, she said, under a temptation 
to steal ; she never had done so, however, but she was always 
tempted by Satan so to do. She was a servant. Though I 
believed the poor girl to be labouring under a delusion, I did 
as she required : she attended the church on the following 
Sunday, and I offered the prayer for her as for a person in 
distress of mind ; I saw her in great agitation during the 
service. She came to thank me some time afterwards, and 
said she thought Satan had left her. None knew the person 
for whom the prayer was offered but the clerk and myself. 
She had applied to him likewise, as demi-official. I desired 
hini to say nothing about it ; or the poor creature might have 
been bantered out of her senses. But I think, without any 
admonition, my clerk would not have troubled his head much 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 55 

about her. He had always a little of the nature of contempt 
for the sex, and was thoroughly possessed with the conceit 
of the vast superiority of his own. I wanted to establish a 
school and make him a teacher, and spoke to him about 
terms : I thought he required too much, and told him I 
could employ a woman for much less. "A woman, sir ! " 
said he, and drew slowly back three steps, as much as to 
bid me look at him ; and, by the by, as a touch of nature, 
I must observe that such was the exact thing that Hecuba 
does in Euripides, when she would have herself surveyed as 
a picture, to see if any be so wretched. Now, my clerk, I 
venture to say, had never read and never will read a line of 
the tragic poet ; so that it was pure nature in him, and a 
proud nature too, — for he repeated his words with an em- 
phasis of astonishment. " A woman, sir ! — I hope you do 
not compare my abilities with those of any woman ! " The 
good man was not then married. I think he has since dis- 
covered that they have more abilities than he gave them 
credit for. And as this reminds me of no bad reply of one 
of the Society of Friends to a banterer, I will tell it to you, 
Eusebius, for it will, I am sure, from its gravity, set the 
muscles that move the corners of your mouth into play. 
Friend Grace, it seems, had a very good horse and a very 
poor one. When seen riding the latter, he was asked the 
reason (it turned out that his better half had taken the good 
one). "What," said the bantering bachelor, "how comes it 
you let mistress ride the better horse ? " The only reply 
was — " Friend, when thee beest married thee 'lit know." I 
am always pleased with the sedate, quiet manner of the 
" people called Quakers," as the Act of Parliament styles 
them, and can forgive their little enmities to tithes and 
taxes. I know, Eusebius, you are inclined to laugh when 
you see them, and call their dress coxcombry ; but they are 
changing that fashion. Yet there is nothing that I have 



56 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

been more aroused with than the ingenuity of one, in trans- 
ferring the scandal of his own temper upon the church : 
riding a restive horse, his equanimity was disturbed ; he 
dealt the animal a blow and a word (which I must not write, 
but is usually written with a d and an n and a stroke between 
them), " d&c. thee," but, recollecting himself, he added, "as 
the church folks say." Don't impatiently send me back 
upon my parish, Eusebius. Let me follow the current of my 
thoughts, and you shall hear one more anecdote, though I go 
to America for it, for it is characteristic, and then will I 
quietly settle for the rest of the chapter. I heard the anec- 
dote from a gentleman long resident in Philadelphia. Two 
Quakers in that place applied to their society, as they do not 
go to law, to decide in the following difficulty : A is uneasy 
about a ship that ought to have arrived, meets B, an insurer, 
and states his wish to have the vessel insured. The matter 
is agreed upon. A returns home, and receives a letter 
informing him of the loss of his ship. What shall he do ? 
He is afraid that the policy is not filled up, and should B hear 
of the matter soon, it is all over with him — he therefore 
writes to B thus : — " Friend B, if thee hastn't filled up the 
policy thee needsn't. for I've heard of the ship." — " Oh, oh ! " 
thinks B to himself — " cunning fellow — he wants to do me 
out of the premium." So he writes thus to A : " Friend 
A, thee be'est too late by half-an-hour, the policy is rilled." 
A rubs his hands with delight — yet B refuses to pay. Well, 
what is the decision? The loss is divided between them. 
Perhaps this is even-handed justice, though unquestionably 
an odd decision. My dear Eusebius will extract the moral 
from a tale in which there is but little morality to be 
discovered. 

I am not surprised that the ancients had their words of 
omen. I wanted to go straight back to my parish, and the 
word moral takes me back there as straight as an arrow, far 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 57 

straighter indeed than the Moral I am going to speak of ever 
went when once out of it. And if the circumstance happened 
in your presence, Eusebius, and in the church, as it did in 
mine, you know well you would most sadly have exposed 
yourself. I hud a servant with a very deceptive name, Samuel 
Moral, who, as if merely to belie it, was in one respect the 
most immoral, for he was much given to intoxication. This 
of course brought on other careless habits ; and as I wished 
to reclaim him, if possible, I long bore with him, and many 
a lecture I gave him. " Oh, Samuel, Samuel ! " said I to him 
very frequently— " what will become of you?" On one 
occasion I told him he was making himself a brute, and then 
only was he roused to reply angrily, "Brute, sir — no brute 

at all, sir — was bred and born at T ." But the incident, 

which would inevitably have upset the equilibrium of your 
gravity, was this. I had given him many a lecture for being 
too late at church, but still I could not make him punctual. 
One Sunday, as I was reading the first lesson, which hap- 
pened to be the third chapter, first book of Samuel, I saw him 
run in at the church-door, ducking down his head that he 
might not be noticed. He made as much haste as he could 
up into the gallery, and he had no sooner appeared in the 
front, thinking of nothing but that he might escape observa- 
tion, than I came to those words, " Samuel, Samuel." I never 
can forget his attitude, directly facing me. He stood up in 
an instant, leaning over the railing, with his mouth wide 
open, and if some one had not pulled him down instantly by 
the skirt of his coat, I have no doubt he would have publicly 
made his excuse. 

I had another of these Trinculos, who put a whole house 
into a terrible fright, and the silly fellow might have met 
with a serious injury himself. One day his mistress sent him 
to a neighbour's, about two miles distant, with her compli- 
ments, to inquire for the lady of the house, who had very 



58 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 






recently been confined. The sot, however, could not pass a 
hamlet that lay in his way without indulging his favourite 
propensity of paying his respects to the public-house. When 
a drunkard loses his senses he is sure to lose his time. The 
first he may recover, but never the last ; so it was with our 
Trinculo. When he came to himself, he bethought him of his 
errand ; but was perhaps totally unconscious of the time lost, 
and had not quite sufficient senses to make inquiry ; and the 
stars he never contemplated ; there were always so many more 
than he could count. But to my neighbour's gate he found his 
way. He knocked, he beat, he rang, and he halloed — for now 
he did not like to waste time — and it was two o'clock in the 
morning. The inmates were all in confusion. " Thieves ! fire ! " 
was the general cry. Some ran about half clad — some looked 
out of window — dogs barked, and women howled. The master 
took his blunderbuss, opened the window, and called out 
stoutly, " Who's there ! who's there ! " Trinculo answered, 
but not very intelligibly. At last the master of the house 
dresses, unbolts and unbars his doors, and with one or two 
men-servants behind, boldly walks down the lawn-path to the 
gate. "What's the matter — who are you?" Trinculo 
stammers out, " My master and mistress's compliments, 

and be glad to know how Mrs and her baby is." Yet, 

upon the whole, I have little reason to complain of my do- 
mestics. The very bad do not like to enter a clergyman's 
family. Indeed my female servants have had so good a 
name for all proprieties, that this circumstance alone led to 
the very comfortable settlement of one of them, and I think 
that event has been a recommendation to the house ever 
since. 

One evening as tea was brought in, I heard a half-sup- 
pressed laugh in the passage, and observed a simpering 
strange look in the servant's face as the urn was put on the 
table. The cause was soon made known ; it was a courtship, 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 59 

and a strange one. A very decent-looking respectable man, 
about thirty-five years of age, who carried on some small 
business in a neighbouring town, a widower, and a Wesleyan, 
knocked at the door. He was then a perfect stranger. The 
man-servant opened it. " I want," said the stranger, "to 

speak with one of Mr 's female servants." — "Which?" 

— " Oh, it doesn't signify which." The announcement was 
made in the kitchen. " I'm sure I won't go," says one. 
" Nor I," says another. " Then I will," said the nurse, and 
straight she went to the door. " Do you wish to speak to 
me, sir ?" — " Yes, I do," said the stranger. " I am a widower, 

and I hear a very good character of Mr 's servants. I 

want a wife, and you will do very well." — "Please to walk 
in, sir," said nurse. In he walked, and it was this odd cir- 
cumstance that caused a general titter. But the man was 
really in earnest — in due time he married the woman ; and I 
often saw them very comfortable and happy in the little town 

of ; and I verily believe they neither of them had any 

reason to repent the choice thus singularly made. She fell 
into his ways — had a good voice, and joined him in many a 
hymn — thus manifesting their happiness and their thanks, 
while he was busy about his work, and she rocked the cradle. 
I represent them as I saw them, and I doubt not their whole 
life was conformable to the scene. 

There was another widower, whose cottage was within a 
few fields of us, who was not so very disinterested. He was 
a labouring man, and had his little income, a pension, and, 
for a labouring man, was pretty well off. I had attended his 
wife in her last illness, who, by the by, was the ugliest 
woman I ever beheld. This man cast his eyes, if not his 
affections, upon the rather simple daughter of an old man who 
was then hind to a gentleman, had kept a dairy, and was 
supposed to have saved a little money. The daughter was 
about thirty. Upon her he cast his eye ; and as her eye had 



60 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

a slight cast too — they met — and a courtship commenced — 
the whole progress of which she very simply told to her 
mother-in-law, and her mother-in-law brought it to the par- 
sonage. The man, it seemed, wanted sadly to know if she 
would bring him anything, and in a thousand ways, with all 
his ingenuity, did he twist it, but never could arrive at the 
point, and he dared not be too explicit for fear of offending 
the old father. " May be," said he, " we might keep a cow ?" 
No answer. " May be, with a little help somehovj, we might 
rent a field?" No answer. " May be, with summut added 
to what I've got ? " A pause — no answer. " May be your 
father might spare ? " No answer. The man's patience 
could hold out no longer ; he let go her arm, and looking at 
her angrily, said — " Domm it, have a got any money ?" And 
what said she ? — nothing. " If thee beest so stupid," added 
he, after a bit, "I must go to thee faather." The father, I 
suppose, gave something, for the loving couple married. 
Love, Love ! what is it, and what is it not, in this working, 
and this unworking world ! The business of it— the pleasure 
of it — the pain of it — the universal epidemic, but how various 
in its operation in our different natures ! It is a raging fever 
— a chill — an ague — the plague — some it makes sober — some 
it drives mad — some catch it — some breed it — in some it bears 
fruit naturally — in others it is engrafted, and then we have 
sweet apples on sour stocks. There was no very hot fit in 
either of the instances just given. Some take it for all and all ; 
for its own value — some in exchange for lands and tenements 
— and some with them for a make-weight — some will have it 
pure — some can only bear it mixed — some have it for ornament 
— some for use. Take an instance of the latter. An aged 
gentleman, who had been more than ordinarily successful in 
the world, and had well thriven in business, so connected in 
his mind love and trade together, by an indissoluble link, 
that he never could think of the one without the other : no 






MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 61 



matter which came uppermost for the time, the other was 
sure to be tacked to it. He recounted his amours thus — 
for, be it observed, he had been married to no less than four 
wives. " Well," says he, " I began the world, as one may 
say, by marriage and by trade at one and the same time. 
For the first Mrs Do-well had something decent, and I im- 
mediately put her money in the trade. It did very well, 
and we did very well ; and then it pleased God to take Mrs 
Do-well ; and so I went on with my trade till I thought it 
time to look about me ; and I didn't marry foolishly when I 
took the second Mrs Do-well, and I put her money in the 
trade, and there it did very well and we did very well ; and 
it pleased God to take her too ; and so I looked about me 
again, and married the third Mrs Do-well : she had a good 
purse of her own, and so I put her money in the trade ; and 
all did very well ; and it pleased God that she should die 
likewise : and then I got my friends to look out for me — and 
they did, and I married the fourth Mrs Do-well, and I put 
her money in the trade, and the trade wasn't the worse for 
that ; and now here am I out of trade, and they're all dead, 
and I'm very comfortable." " It pleased God," or " if it 
pleased God," are most convenient expressions ; they let 
down sorrow so gently, and with such an air of resignation ; 
or express a satisfaction without exposing the sin of it; 
they cover a secret wish with such a sanctity, that I know 
of no form of words more comprehensive, or capable of more 
extensive and more varied application ; but they solely have 
a reference to the human species and their affairs : a mur- 
rain may seize all the brute creation and carry them off, but 
such expressions never will be used unless in reference to 
the loss some human individual may sustain thereby. You 
will generally find that they mean what the tongue dare not 
utter. I was once in company with an elderly gentleman 
who had in his early days spent much of his time in America : 



62 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHEB PABOCHIALSL 

he was questioning another, who had recently arrived from 

that country, respecting many of his old acquaintance there. 
It was very well known that the elderly gentleman was not 
blessed with a wife — that is. he had one that was no blessing 
to him. They say he was once recommended a perpetual 
blister, when he sighed and confessed he had one in his 
wife, and without doubt the fact was so : but. as I remarked, 
making inquiries about his old acquaintance, he added, — 

•• If it should please God to take Mrs , I will go and see 

my friends in America :" and the other, as if to show that 
his domestic calamity was well known across the Atlantic, 
replied, "And they will be particularly glad to see you." 
Now, though this was put but hypothetically, and even with 
an air of resignation, if such a thing should happen, the 
poor gentleman would have been particularly unfortunate 
had mistress overheard the expression. I believe she gave 
him very little peace : and the idea that he should ever 
enjoy any out of her jurisdiction, would have thrown her 
into a towering fury. It is very amusing to enter into the 
very marrow of expressions, to dissect them, and come at 
their real ingenuity. I knew a gentleman who. although he 
bore the name of his legal father, bore nothing else that 
could be at all referred to him, but was bequeathed a hand- 
some property by his illegal father. But never to mention 
one who had left him such a bequest, would not have pleased 
the world which always means fifteen miles round one), and 
he would have been called, behind his back, an ungrateful 
fellow ; and as he lived on the bequeathed estate, it would 
have been impossible. To mention him as an alien to him, 
would have been sure to have provoked the smile of satire 
and perpetuated scandal ; yet by one happy expression, he 
admirably avoided the awkwardness and the odium — he 
invariably called him his " predecessor." An elderly gentle- 
man of Ireland, and a bachelor, once in my presence managed 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 63 

this sort of thing very badly, but very ludicrously. I was 
in the drawing-room conversing with the lady of the house 
when he was announced ; he was himself rather a diminutive 
man. He came into the room, holding by the arm a big- 
youth about eighteen years of age, robust enough to have 
brandished a shillelah with any in Tipperary. He pushed 
him a little forward towards the lady, and said, " Ma'am, give 
me leave to introduce to you my nephew," then merely putting 
his hand on one side of his mouth, in an Irish whisper, which 
is somewhat louder than common speech, he added, " He's 
my son." It is fortunate that Eusebius was not present. 
Every grade of life has its vocabulary — and it varies much 
in counties and in parishes. You will find it no easy task, 
Eusebius, to master the vocabularies that ought to be known, 
if you would understand every grade in the parish to which 
you may attach yourself; but it is hopeless to suppose they 
will ever understand yours. And here is a fair spring of 
much misunderstanding. The sacrifice must be on your 
part. Educated persons speak much more metaphorically 
than they are aware of. But that which is a conventional 
language in one society is not so in another. The simplest 
mode of expression, and at the same time the most forcible, 
must be studied; and in our intercourse with the poor, I 
believe it to be a good rule, as much as possible, to discard 
words exceeding two syllables — and never trust your tongue 
with a parenthesis, under any hope that the sense will be 
taken up by any thread in the mind of your hearer, after you 
have once made him take the jump with you, and have left 
it behind you. You must speak the words your poor par- 
ishioners know, but not in their manner ; they will see that 
it is an imitation, and think it a banter and insult, and they 
expect you to speak differently. They will look up to your 
education with respect, but do not ever lower it in their 
estimation by laying it aside ; nor hurt them by supposing 



64 MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 

they cannot understand it. Be assured, the poor are sensible 
of the grace and beauty of clear and gentle (I use the word 
in opposition to their coarse) diction, in a greater degree 
than we commonly suppose ; and they will be as ready to 
pull off their hats to your words as to your appearance. 
They believe that there are two sorts of English, and they 
expect you to have the best, and take great pride in under- 
standing you, thinking they have acquired something, when 
all the merit may be in your plainness, and in your better 
manner of saying common words. I say, they think there 
are two sorts of English. This reminds me of an anecdote 
which a schoolmaster told me. A farmer wished his son to 
have some learning, and on a market- day brought him the 
lad ; he was to be taught Latin. I daresay the farmer had 
heard of dog Latin, and bethought him of it after he had left 
the school ; for on the next market- day he came to the school 
with a sack, and said to the master, " I do understand there 
are two sorts of Latin ; I should like my son to ha' the best, 
and so I ha' brought ye a pig." Now, Eusebius, it is to me 
very clear that if they wish their sons to have the best, they 
will expect us to have the best, whether it be Latin or 
English ; and if they find we have the best of the latter, 
there is no fear they will not give us credit for the former. 
I have often thought it would be worth while to take the best 
sermons, and translate them, as it were, into short sentences, 
and words of two syllables. The story of the poor gardener, 
who, being asked what felicity meant, said he did not know, 
but he believed it was a bulbous root, is well known. There 
cannot be a greater mistake than, as some do, to trouble and 
perplex a country congregation with technical divinity, nor 
with such words as " the Philosophy of the Stoa," " the 
responses of the Hierophant," which were yet uttered in a 
country church. Their only value will be in their unintel- 
ligibility, that they may be taken for a mystery, which made 



MEDICAL ATTENDANCE, AND OTHER PAROCHIALS. 65 

the old lady exclaim — " Oh, those comfortable words, Meso- 
potamia, Pamphylia, Thrace." 

But we have a habit of lecturing, and so here do I find 
myself lecturing — whom ! no other than my friend Eusebius, 
who has a more quick sense of what is right in these matters, 
and a somewhat unfortunately more keen perception of 
what is wrong in them, than any man living — Vive valeque. 



A FEW HOUES AT HAMPTON COUKT. 

[DECEMBER 1840.] 

How many, and those too who profess to be lovers of art, 
speak of the Cartoons, who have never seen them ; and yet 
they may be enjoyed at less trouble and cost than the greater 
part of the fooleries and buffooneries that are crowded with 
visitors ! The Southampton railroad and an omnibus will 
set you down at Hampton Court in a very short time. The 
difficulty is not to get there, but to return. There is so much 
to enjoy, that it must be left with reluctance. It is a noble 
thing to have Hampton Court open to the public — the palace 
— the gardens — and even the park — the pictures — to say 
nothing of the associations connected with it : its retirement 
from the noise and stir of the great hive — the " fumum et 
opes, strepitumque " — render it a scene of enchantment. It 
is like a palace from the romance of Ariosto, where all was to 
be had at a wish. If poor, you are made rich in a moment ; 
for all is your own. You walk through richest galleries and 
rooms furnished with the greatest treasures of the world, and 
are not asked a question. You feel the luxury of a proprietor, 
without the burden of the property You are a prince, inas- 
much as the detail of keeping up the establishment is kept 
out of your sight : you enjoy, without repining either at the 
cost or trouble. You know not how the walks are kept in 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. G7 

order — but there they are. All you see are your invited and 
well-behaved company ; you know that they are gratified ; 
you have no responsibility ; and, if the heart can be at ease 
from extraneous cares, you are sensible that none will meet 
you here. You are really " monarch of all you survey," and 
"your right there is none to dispute." Hampton Court has 
thus its return of sunshine. Eetributive justice makes recom- 
pense for all the wrongs that have been done. The beneficent 
and magnificent spirit of Wolsey now triumphs. The archi- 
tecture is indeed mutilated ; but what remains is happy in 
containing treasures infinitely greater than those removed. 
If there were nothing here but the Cartoons, Hampton Court 
might be considered one of the richest palaces in the world. 
Poor Wolsey ! The sour and the spiteful to any outward 
honour of Church, State, and the liberal arts, still rave at the 
name of the " proud and pampered churchman," and his 
ambition — fellows that have not the smallest conception of 
the ambition of such a mind as the cardinal's. It would be 
worth dissecting : for it is a history of itself, of greater depth 
than most men can fathom. If it were a personal ambition, 
it enlarged his personality, drew within its compass a large 
society, with which it was identified in every enjoyment, and 
for the loss of whose happiness it felt keenly, as in reality a 
part of its own. We give things names — and ill names too 
— and choose to call pride, that all may scoff at it, what in 
fact is in its nature too complicated to have a name. In 
Wolsey it was a compound of various noble and excellent 
feelings, crowned with ability and power, and enlarged to a 
beneficence far out of sight of self, and ever alive to grand and 
immortal purposes. Wolsey had self-love — and who has not ? 
True ; but he loved himself, and prided himself, and honoured 
himself, not out of low gratification, but as an idea of his own 
creation, quite set apart from the low and grovelling lust of 
praise, as an image of history even created by himself, and to 



68 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 

be maintained and supported throughout with the propriety, 
in all parts and movements, that a great dramatist would 
attach to his ideal character, the coinage of a genius that 
seeks something above the common world. Who will dare 
to say that Wolsey's grandeur had but himself for its object ? 
His great mind would have been weary in a week of such a 
poor aim. He used magnificence as a means, and because he 
was of a magnificent nature, and all the materials of his mind 
were magnificent ; and he used them, ready ever to bring out 
magnificent conceptions. And the true greatness of his 
character was in this — that the kindliest affections still found 
their natural play in his heart ; a heart that, had it been 
of common capacity only, must have been too full with the 
pride heaped upon it, to the suffocation of the better feelings. 
And what had he not to contend with? " Some are born to 
greatness, and some have it thrust upon them ; " but, when it 
is so thrust, can all bear the burden ? If it be answered, nor 
did Wolsey — we deny it. He bore it well ; and to his his- 
torical character greatness ever did, does, and will attach 
itself, as an essential quality, and spread, moreover, some of 
its superabundant brightness over England's, and even the 
world's honour, begotten and cherished by him while he 
lived ; and, now that he is dead, the greater through him. 
But Wolsey raised himself. He could not but rise : his 
abilities were rare. And how hard is it to cast off the weeds 
of early habits, of low station and poverty, and to assume of 
one's own will, and wear well too, and as if born to it, the 
splendour of the highest dignity ! To fit the mind to every 
situation, and one as remote as possible from that in which it 
originally grew, is the acquirement of a master spirit — and 
this had Wolsey. Shakespeare, in a few well-chosen words, 
paints the man : — 

" Chamb. This night he makes a supper, and a great one, 
To many lords and ladies ; there will be 
The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you. 



A FEW HOUES AT HAMPTON COURT. 69 

Lovel. That churchman bears a bounteous mind indeed, 
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ; 
His dews fall everywhere." 

King Henry VIII. 

The Great Master of Nature, though compelled to make 
the character of Wolsey subservient to the purpose of his 
play, and to put all the evil that could be said against the 
cardinal into the mouths of his adversaries, has, after all, 
given a true and high name to that great man, and has judi- 
ciously published its admission from the suffering queen : — 

" Griffith. This cardinal, 

Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly 
Was fashion' d to much honour. From his cradle 
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
Exceeding wise, fan spoken, and persuading : 
Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; 
But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
And though he were unsatisfied in getting 
(Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam, 
He was most princely : Ever witness for him 
Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, 
Ipswich and Oxford ! — one of which fell with him, 
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it : 
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous, 
So excellent in art, and still so rising, 
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. 
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ; 
For then, and not till then, he felt himself, 
And found the blessedness of being little : 
And to add greater honours to his age 
Than man could give him, he died fearing God. 

Kath. Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, 
With thy religious truth and modesty, 
Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! " 

This gives, perhaps, the truest portrait of Wolsey; yet are 
the dignified virtues of his character not magnified. Nor can 
we be surprised at this, if we consider the nearness of the 
time when this was written ; and if it be true that the first 
play acted in the great hall was this very play of Henry VIII., 
before that very king's daughter, and that Shakespeare was 



70 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 

one of the actors, it must be owned that the author was in a 
strait of no little difficulty. 

The death of Buckingham, with the exception of the 
general sin of his ambition, set and jewelled as it were in 
bright virtues, seems alone to press with strong suspicion 
upon Wolsey's fame ; and here we can scarcely condemn, 
not being certain of the facts either for or against that event. 
There may be, too, a clue to his pride and ostentation in the 
character of the king he had to please, and to entice to better 
and greater acts than were quite consistent with the royal 
nature. We know not how much Wolsey might have assumed, 
as a charm to accomplish a wisely-conceived end. That he 
coveted the papal throne there can be no doubt. His ambi- 
tion there may have been honourable, and emanating from a 
conscious power and fitness to govern ; and there can be no 
doubt of his desires to have employed his power for the real 
advancement of learning and civilisation ; and be it observed, 
that with Wolsey fell the whole character of the king. What 
wretches he had about him, and what a brute did he become, 
when the salutary, the preserving influence of the greater 
mind was removed ! All Henry's atrocities were after Wol- 
sey's fall. And this great man had not to deal with mankind 
as they are now ; but in times which it now even requires 
labour and study to understand, and which are therefore not 
at all felt by many, and but inadequately for the purpose of 
forming a right judgment by any ; that is, we cannot easily 
convey our acquired knowledge into our feeling, so as to 
carry it with us through the history of those times. There 
is something extremely pathetic, and of great and beautiful 
simplicity, in the speech of Wolsey to his retinue in his dis- 
grace. In his episcopal habit, he called all together, gentle- 
men, yeomen, and chaplains, and addressed them from a great 
window at the upper end of his chamber. Thus says Caven- 
dish : " Beholding his goodly number of servants, he could 






A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 71 

not speak unto them, until the tears ran down his cheeks ; 
which being perceived by his servants, caused fountains of 
tears to gush out of their sorrowful eyes, in such sort as 
would cause any heart to relent. At last my lord spake to 
them to this effect and purpose : — * Most faithful gentlemen 
and true-hearted yeomen ! I much lament that, in my pros- 
perity, I did not so much forgive as I might have done. Still 
I consider that, if, in my prosperity, I had preferred you to 
the king, then should I have incurred the king's servants' 
displeasure, who would not spare to report behind my back 
that there could no office about the court escape the cardinal 
and his servants ; and by that means I should have run into 
open slander of all the world ; but now is it come to pass that 
it hath pleased the king to take all that I have into his hands, 
so that I have now nothing to give you ; for I have nothing 
left me but the bare clothes on my back.' " Here is a noble 
subject for a historical picture. 

Wolsey's taste and knowledge of architecture must have 
been great. Who can see the tower of Magdalen College and 
doubt it ? And Christ Church, and Hampton Court, though 
mutilated, bear sufficient testimony to his knowledge and love 
of that excellent art of architecture, which none but superior 
minds should venture to meddle with ; for if it makes great- 
ness and wisdom conspicuous to the world, it makes folly so 
too, and therefore the more contemptible. Architecture is 
the natural constructive instinct of a great mind, the throwing 
off into palpable form of high thoughts. It is a part of that 
noble constructiveness which would build up institutions ; 
the practical language of a governing mind. It is an empire 
in itself, in which genius loves to reign and be supreme. It 
was highly characteristic of Wolsey. We believe all really 
great men love architecture. A man who builds to himself a 
notable palace, or house, and by his arrangements adequately 
shows forth and appropriates a fine estate, makes to himself 



72 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 

at least a centre of the world, to which all things come, or 
seem to come, and from which all thoughts radiate by en- 
closing apparently so much of the world's wilderness as he 
wants : all within his eye's reach is his real, and all without, 
his imaginary domain. He creates the happiest delusion of 
space, regulates it by his own ideas, making it what he would 
have it, and ornaments it to charm him. It was a beautiful 
idea, and expressive of its perfectness, that named the temple 
of the god the b/npaXog yy]g. In a fair and noble mansion, a 
man must, in some degree, feel himself a king, for his will 
has sway, and room to move in. It has a tendency to elevate, 
to give him character, decision, and that dignity which ever 
arises from repose within one's self; that need not be shoved 
and hustled from meditation and reflection by the too near 
proximity of ill-assorted things and persons. We look upon 
the taste for architecture as a national good. It is the means 
of raising families to a visible responsibility, giving them 
something to keep up, and to hand down to others, greater 
than the littleness of uncultivated, unadorned republican 
man. The other arts require it ; and all arts thus assisting 
each other, build up and constitute all that is beautiful in the 
world, visible and moral. How hard is it to give up any 
thing we make and call our own ! Now, in nothing was 
Wolsey's superior greatness more shown than in the readiness 
of so large a sacrifice as Hampton Court. Had he pride, he 
had enthroned it here ; but his pride was a part of him. 
Driven out forcibly from one palace, it had a sure refuge in 
himself. Nothing, no outward act of malice or tyranny could 
rob the world's history of Wolsey. He knew it, and even in 
his fall was greatest. This noble fabric of Hampton Court 
was, however, readily resigned by Wolsey into the king's 
hands, who afterwards seized too his palace, subsequently 
called Whitehall. It is a curious fact, and one that marks a 
visible retribution upon things, names, and persons, whereby 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 73 

a sort of moral history of the world is written by a Divine 
hand, and carried on in continuance by striking incidents — 
it is a curious fact that these two palaces of Wolsey, as they 
are monuments of the rapine of royalty, so are they of the 
humiliation of royalty. We see the crime, the penance, and 
the punishment ; and we must regard rather the official than 
the personal characters of the agents and sufferers. It is the 
tale of Naboth's vineyard. These two palaces, plundered 
by the royal hand, were, in their due time, one the prison, 
the other the place of execution of royalty. Wretched, unfor- 
tunate Charles ! who can visit Hampton Court and not think 
of him, and detest his brutal persecutors ? But there is inter- 
mediate interesting matter for reflection that may not be 
entirely passed over. The amiable, excellent Edward VI. 
resided here, and yet, as if the guilty punishment of the house 
began early, not without fear of having his person seized, the 
short-lived successor of the rapacious Henry. Then follows 
the inauspicious honey moon of Queen Mary and Philip of 
Spain which was passed in this palace ; then indeed the evil 
and prophetic spirit of the house might have uttered their 
epithalamium in the words of Cassandra the doomed. 

<( #avov 'h'of/,01 vrviovffiv ulfjboe.Toa'.roi.yn-" 

Unhappy nuptials ! from which, in the. place of other 
offspring, was begotten the furious bigotry that deluged the 
land with blood — the blood of saints and martyrs. But for 
this, retribution on the Papal bigots was at hand. Protest- 
antism triumphed in the succeeding reign ; and here Eliza- 
beth held her festivities. A respite is given to the house to 
perform this act of justice, to make it indeed complete ; for 
the bigotry here engendered, was here put down under 
James I. For at this very palace was the conference held, 
the blessed effects of which were found in the improved 
translation of the Holy Scriptures, at which conference 



74 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTOX COURT. 

James uttered the grave aphorism, "Xo bishop, no king." 
Hampton Court now becomes interesting to us, having wit- 
nessed Charles I.'s happiness and his misfortunes. It was 
the scene of his happiest days, for here he, too, passed his 
honeymoon ; and of his worst, for it was his prison. Poor 
King Charles ! It was to his taste and love for the arts that 
Hampton Court owes its present glory — the Cartoons of 
Kaffaele. They alone make up to us for all the architectural 
diminution this fine palace has suffered. These cartoons 
were purchased at the recommendation of Eubens. They 
had been cut into slips, for the purpose of making tapestry 
from them ; and we must not omit our gratitude to William 
III., who had them carefully attended to, put them on frames, 
and built the gallery for their reception. Hampton Court 
owes its present appearance to William III. The alterations 
by Sir Christopher Wren are easily distinguished from the 
original buildings of Wolsey. The public are now indebted 
to him more for the Hutch style of the gardens than for some 
of the ornaments of the palace. It was the residence of 
Queen Anne — the scene of Pope's Rape of the Lock. Courts 
were occasionally held here by George I. and George II.; 
and Frederick, Prince of Wales, afterwards occupied it. 
Since then it has been appropriated, in apartments, to various 
persons. But the mind naturally reverts to the misfortunes 
of Charles. Here was he a prisoner of Parliament, in the 
very scene of his former happiness, that he had adorned with 
pictures worthy the taste of a king ; and what became of the 
majority of them? — Sold by the tasteless republicans, and 
dispersed throughout the courts of Europe, and many de- 
stroyed — even the most sacred subjects torn dowu, or 
defaced, in sour relentless bigotry, which then, as a general 
disease, infected men's minds ; and, however mitigated, the 
disease has never been eradicated, and occasionally breaks 
forth, even now, with more or less strength. The king-kill- 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 75 

ing, picture-destroying, taste-despising, virulent faction is 
still in existence ; and had they full play, the results would 
be the same. King James's aphorism is for all ages, " No 
bishop, no king." There were multitudes rife for the full 
mischief, when, under the Eeform mania, they would have 
murdered the bishop at Bristol ; did mutilate and burn the 
Bible ; set fire to the bishop's palace and the cathedral, and 
were ready to march to London to dethrone the king. No 
man, with the slightest pretensions to taste, or indeed to any 
true feeling, can pardon the atrocious acts of the Puritans, 
which have retarded to this day the cultivation of the arts 
introduced into this country and fostered by the first Charles. 
Gro where we will, we see still their mutilations, their bar- 
barities, monuments of their hypocrisy and infamy : and we 
see worse monuments in the characters of their descendants. 
The historical events that offer themselves so readily to the 
mind, upon a visit to Hampton Court, are of themselves 
sufficient for many a day's speculation ; and the extremely 
valuable and curious portraits give an identity to such specu- 
lations that can scarcely be obtained elsewhere. We could 
not help smiling, however, at the whimsical notice with 
regard to the Portrait Gallery, which we found in our 
amusing and useful guide-book, to this effect : " There are 
several interesting and curious portraits in this room, that 
are unknown." 

Our object in visiting Hampton Court was not to make 
historical speculations, but to see the pictures ; and we hope 
we have not wandered too far from our purpose. In fact, we 
consider some such preface is necessary ; that something of 
the history of the place, its founder, and its inhabitants, 
must be known and felt before any person can fully enjoy 
the works of art at Hampton Court. For ourselves, had we 
confined our views to the mere pictures, we should not have 
written at all ; for we do not presume, in a few hours, to 



76 A FEW HOUES AT HAMPTON COURT. 

have been able to nave formed a correct judgment,* where 
there is so much to see, and much so arranged as not to be 
very visible. There is unquestionably a great deal of trash, 
mere rubbish, and no little of this cast that occupies a large 
space. But we could not help thinking that there are, or 
might be, some really fine things so placed as to be lost. 
Perhaps this is more the case with the portraits than with 
other subjects. We do not despise ornamental painting 
when it affects nothing beyond ornament. It is generally 
disgusting when it assumes subject, and conspicuous folly 
when it plays vagaries in allegory. Allegory, in fact, has 
been an incubus upon art and poetry. However Spenser and 
Kubens may have given it an eclat by their genius, we can- 
not but perceive that it was a clog upon their powers — but 
in bad hands what does it become ? An insipid, senseless 
display of pictorial or poetical riddles not worth solving. It 
is the handiwork, at best, of a smart intelligence without 
feeling. That presuming allegory should show its bare- 
faced audacity in a palace sanctified by the Cartoons, is to 
be lamented — and more glaringly absurd allegories than 
those large performances on the staircases and ceilings at 
Hampton Court were never perpetrated. But we adinire, how 
it could ever enter into the brain of mortal man to twist the 
grave buffooneries of the heathen gods and goddesses into a 
courtly flattery of modern princes. On entering a gallery of 
allegory, the visitor should be forewarned that he is expected 
to lay aside his common sense. Never was there such con- 
fusion of allegorical personages as figure on the walls of " The 
King's Grand Staircase " — painted by Verrio. It is quite after 
the fashion of the description in the Groves of Blarney — 

" Julius Caesar, 
And Nebuchadnezzar, 
All standing naked in the open air." 

Verrio was an ass, as a wholesale manufacturer of fulsome 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 77 

allegories must needs be. He was the man that introduced 
himself and Sir Godfrey Kneller, in long periwigs, as spec- 
tators of our Saviour Healing the Sick. What hole of 
mythology has he left unransacked for ornamenting this stair- 
case? It is "Allegory at Home,'' or a fancy-ball given by 
Folly and Flattery jointly to Heathenism. Here are Apollo, 
the Muses, and Pan and Ceres, and Thames and Isis, and 
Flora and Ganymede, Juno and her Peacock, the Fatal 
Sisters and Jupiter. The Signs of the Zodiac, the Zephyrs 
and Destiny, and Venus with her legs upon a Swan, and 
Venus and Mars her lover. Pluto, Proserpine, Coelus and 
Terra, Neptune and Amphitrite, Bacchus, Silenus, Diana, 
and Eomulus and his Wolf. Hercules, Peace, iEneas, and 
the Twelve Caesars, and the Genius of Eome ; and (we must 
suppose, not in compliment to the Christian religion) Julian 
the Apostate writing at a Table, with Mercury the God of 
Eloquence attending upon him. But if the king's grand stair- 
case is shocking, there is a very proper matrimonial agree- 
ment between that and the queen's ; for that blockhead Kent 
was allowed to daub the ceiling, and Vick to perpetrate the 
great picture upon the wall representing the Duke of Buck- 
ingham as Science in the habit of Mercury, introducing the 
Arts and Sciences (that is, duplicates of himself) to Charles 
II. and his queen. Was there in those days no lunatic 
asylum to have provided a " Custos virorum mercurialium?" 
But we must confess, that of all these vile perpetrations, 
Verrio's are the best — we trouble not ourselves about the 
designs of any of them — but Verrio's keep up the ornamental 
intention best. They are light and gay in colour, and are 
at once both rich enough and weak enough to set off the 
more solid furniture. Some are dingy and heavy ; and to 
have allegories ready to drop en masse as a dead weight, and 
overwhelm the spectator and his ideas, and bury him under 
Titans of brown umber, is a sad check upon a lively imagi- 



78 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 






nation. The "First Presence Chamber," too, presents us 
with a big allegory, eighteen feet by fifteen — William III. on 
horseback, in armour, and with a helmet that Mercury and 
Peace think it necessary to support, decorated with laurel — 
and Neptune with his attendants by the side of a rock acting 
master of the ceremonies ^illanously — while Plenty and 
Flora present flowers ; for all which King William would 
have done well, had such a happy invention been then in 
existence, to have sent Sir Godfrey Kneller to the treadmill, 
and Flora with him. Would we wish to see these allegories 
destroyed ? It is a puzzle. They contain, some of them at 
least, portraits — and are, therefore, curiosities. It is to be 
lamented, then, that they are so large — the staircase walls, 
we protest, would look better whitewashed than as they are. 
But we fear, were we called upon to decide, it would be that 
they remain — for the precedent of destruction is a bad one ; 
and there are who may take a fancy to have their fling at the 
Cartoons. It is, perhaps, fortunate that those noble efforts 
of the mature genius of Raffaele were not set up in their 
present state, when by an ordinance of Parliament, " Sir 
Robert Harlow, 1645, gave order for the putting down and 
demolishing of the Popish and superstitious pictures in 
Hampton Court, where this day the altar was taken down, 
and the table brought into the body of the church ; the rails 
pulled down, and the steps levelled ; and the Popish pic- 
tures and superstitious images that were in the glass windows 
were also demolished ; and order given for the new glazing 
them with plain glass ; and, among the rest, there was pulled 
down the picture of Christ nailed to the Cross, which was 
placed right over the altar ; and the pictures of Mary Mag- 
dalen and others weeping by the foot of the Cross ; and 
some other such idolatrous pictures were pulled down and 
demolished." We extract this from Jesse's little useful and 
amusing volume, Hampton Court, which, as a guide, judi- 



A FEW HOUKS AT HAMPTON COURT. 79 

ciously contains much information which a visitor would 
wish to refresh his memory with, and to which we stand in- 
debted for this and other matters. He took the above passage 
from a weekly paper of that date, 1645. The Parliamentary 
Commissioners, to the disgrace of the country, sold the 
treasures of art collected by the first Charles, and among 
them the nine pictures in distemper, "the Triumphs of Julius 
Caesar," by Andrea Mantegna. They at that time sold for a 
thousand pounds, and were repurchased, at the Eestoration, 
by Charles II., and are now in Hampton Court. We do 
not pretend to offer any detailed account of these admirable 
designs : they require much time to study them. We should 
be glad to learn if they have ever been engraved. Andrea 
Mantegna was a great master of design : his engravings are 
very scarce, and very valuable, some being subjects from 
Raffaele. He has been thought to have been the inventor of 
engraving. Nor shall we attempt to say much of the Car- 
toons, which, though they have been so often described, may 
yet be critically examined, both with regard to their effect on 
the general spectator, and with regard to the rules and prin- 
ciples of art employed in, and to be discoverable from them. 
This, as well as a particular account of the pictures through- 
out the palace, we hope to make the work of some future 
day. But we earnestly recommend Mr Burnett, who is now 
bringing out the Cartoons in a new and most effective man- 
ner (and, we are happy to add, at a very low price), to write 
a small treatise upon them to accompany his plates. His 
great knowledge of all the details of art, and his judgment 
and feeling for the great master, particularly qualify him for 
the work. We had intended, when we began this paper, to 
have extracted from our note-book our remarks upon the 
pictures in Hampton Court ; but, upon reflection, think it 
better, on some future occasion, to examine them more 
closely ; and we do hope that the good will be, by a discreet 



80 A FEW HOUKS AT HAMPTON COURT. 

hand, separated from the rubbish. Many, too many, by far 
the greater number, are worthless — injure those that are 
good, as evil company is apt to do ; and surely nothing little 
or contemptible should be suffered in a palace originally 
erected by Wolsey, and rich in associations of what is great, 
and what is important in history. So should all the unauthen- 
ticated portraits be removed. Where there are so many 
undoubtedly genuine, it is a pity that a doubt should arise. 
There should be a delightful confidence in such a portrait 
gallery ; that the vision, the waking dream of olden times, 
should pass before the mind, or linger where desired, with 
the most complete power and true enchantment. The faith- 
fulness of Holbein should have nothing that is false near it. 
We are sure of the truth in Holbein's Queen Elizabeth when 
young, probably thirteen or fourteen years of age. It is the 
only portrait of the great maiden queen that is pleasing. 
The countenance is very interesting, even pretty ; the figure 
graceful ; and with the countenance expressive of a sweet 
simplicity of manner — a gentilezza. Self-will had not yet 
overcome the submission of her mind. Power had not en- 
throned the " glorious Gloriana." But, from this maiden 
age, there is not a portrait of Queen Elizabeth that is not 
hideous. The most unaccountably whimsical is that of Queen 
Elizabeth in a fantastic dress, by F. Zucchero. It is as 
inexplicable in its hieroglyphic as it is ugly in dress, and 
strange in every accompaniment. It is said that the Queen 
would not allow her face to have any shadow, whether from 
ignorance of art, or from a conceit partly belonging to her- 
self, and partly the fault of that age of flattery, so that here 
all the shadow is in the background. She is supposed to be 
in a forest, a stag behind her, and a tree on which are 
inscribed mottoes, the meaning of which is past conjecture ; 
her dress would disgrace a Kamtschatkan milliner. On a 
scroll are some verses, by some supposed to be her own, and 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 81 

by some to have been from the pen of Spenser ; we should 
acquit the latter of unintelligibility. The picture of the 
Queen, allegorically treated by Lucas de Heere, is extremely 
curious ; but, for some specimens of this kind, we could 
scarcely credit the fulsome allegory of those days — allegory 
that well-nigh quenched the fire of genius, not that we mean 
to speak of the genius of De Heere. Allegory was then the 
court etiquette ; in language and in art it was the veil 
between majesty unapproachable and her people. In lan- 
guage, it had its ameliorating and courtly use, when modified 
by genius and a love of truth; and perhaps even the wonder- 
ful power and fascination of the language of Shakespeare 
may be not a little indebted to this faulty source. But this 
only obiter : we fear getting out of our depth, and so return to 
this picture of Lucas de Heere. It represents the sudden 
appearance of Queen Elizabeth before Juno, Pallas, and 
Venus. Queenly is the step of the terrestrial majesty. Juno 
is in the act of retreating ; Pallas is in utter astonishment, 
and Venus blushes at being overcome in beauty. The god- 
desses forget their own discord, each conscious that Queen 
Elizabeth alone would have been worthy the golden apple. 
Now the wonder is that Elizabeth herself did not start 
aghast at the ugliness of the picture, and particularly of the 
representation of herself : and yet her two attendants have 
grace ; but the ingenuity of the painter in this is admirable ; 
for, as he could not preserve the queen's likeness, and give 
beauty at the same time, he makes her the standard of beauty, 
by representing Venus as much like her as possible, preserv- 
ing, nevertheless, a very manifest inferiority on the part of 
the goddess. 

The following Latin lines beneath describe the picture : — 

"Juno potens sceptris, et mentis acumine Pallas, 
Et roseo Veneris fulget in ore decus. 
Admit Elizabeth, Juno perculsa refugit, 
Obstupuit Pallas, erubuitque Venus." 
F 



82 A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 

It is scarcely fair to poor De Heere to place tins his picture 
directly under Holbein's Queen Elizabeth when young. It 
has been asserted, that there is no undoubted portrait of 
Mary Queen of Scots. What is, then, to be said of this by 
Janette? It is exquisitely beautiful, and, in style of art, 
surpassed only by Kaffaele. It is like both Kaffaele's and 
Holbein's portraits. It bears a "royal presence" and 
sweetness : as a picture, it has wonderful grace, and truth, 
and power. There are several others by this master, and 
all of them strikingly good. The historical portraits of this 
period are most interesting ; few before that time can be 
relied upon ; but here we find the satisfactory attestation of 
Holbein and Janette. After that, art dwindled, and nearly 
sunk under senseless allegory, and has little to attract till 
we come to the beauties of Charles II. 's reign. These are 
so well known, and all that can be said about them has been 
so well said by Mrs Jameson, that we can only refer to her 
book. We believe that, besides portraits, there are some 
very excellent pictures at Hampton Court ; but, placed as 
they are, they do not tell their own story. They are in a 
wretched state. We could have wished, for the sake of art 
that would not be conspicuous in her defects, that Mr West 
had been a miniature painter. He occupies far too much 
space, considering that he has not dignified what he has 
occupied; and his works are a satire upon the taste and 
patronage of good old George III. There has been an 
attempt made, and is not yet altogether relinquished, to 
have the Cartoons removed to the National Gallery, or to 
some National Gallery within the city smoke. If there is 
danger of injury thereby, as some say there is, who would 
wish the removal? and why rob Hampton Court of its 
greatest treasure ? and surely now it is accessible enough. 
We fear they must suffer deterioration where they are, their 
surfaces being exposed to the atmosphere. We should think 



A FEW HOURS AT HAMPTON COURT. 83 

no cost too great to put glass before them, if, at the same 
time, they could be so placed as to be well seen. The first 
thing to consider is their preservation. It is said that others 
of the set are extant ; if it be the case, surely they should be 
secured for the nation. 

This is a slight notice of Hampton Court ; but if it be 
allowed to be a precursor to more detailed observations, and 
may attract the attention of those concerned in these matters 
to a careful scrutiny of the pictures, we may have our 
pleasure, not without some public profit. *77/i» 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

[NOVEMBER 1841.] 

Do you in earnest, my dear Eusebius, congratulate me on 
being a grandfather — a grandfather, like the infant, of some 
weeks old — the insigne and proper mark of an incipient 
second infancy? Two more such births, and you will write 
me Nestor ; and when will it be your pleasure to ask me if I 
have yet lived up to the old crow ? You know very weU 
that I never keep birthdays — and so you are determined to 
note down one against me. You have often said that you 
pride yourself upon being the young Eusebius, because your 
friend Eugene is older than you, and his father is living : 
so, as you argue, your Mend being Eugene the younger, yet 
older than you, you must be Eusebius the younger ! It is 
thus, in your ingenuity, you try to cheat Time, and are but 
cheating yourself: and there is Time mocking and jeering 
you, out at the very corners of your laughter-loving eyes ; 
and while you, and all the world about you, think it is 
nothing but a display of your own wit, there sits the thief, 
nicely pencilling his crows' feet, and marking you as surely 
his own, as if you had been a tombstoned grandfather, and 
ancestor to twenty generations. So, be not proud, Euse- 
bius ! 

Do you really think me of such an infantine taste as to 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 85 

delight in such things ? And here is the age overstocked 
already; and Miss Martineau and the Utilitarians abstain 
from marriage, that babies may not be born, or that they 
may be themselves, in their own persons, the big monopolists 
of babyism : and you, I see, mean to make a prate about 
these delinquencies of me and mine ! I remember when 
there was an universal taste for infant Cupids — that was in 
Bartolozzi's time — printed in red, to look more rosy ! Every- 
thing was then embellished with babyism — cards, boxes, 
perfumery, bijouterie, frontispieces to grave books — universal 
was the cupidity for infantine show. Taste was in its 
infancy certainly ; but the offspring could noWkeep it up, 
or some, such as Bartolozzi's, floated off by their own light- 
ness and flimsiness ; while others sunk by their weight — 
heavy-blubber, would-be bubbles, with a pair of silly butter- 
fly-wings, each of them tacked on to their shoulders ! From 
those days to the present unhappy ones of great mouths and 
little loaves, the world has never gone on right — all squab- 
bling in this great nursery ! No wonder our orphan asylums 
and lying-in hospitals were full, and required additions and 
additional subscriptions, before such a taste as that for 
babyism could be put down. It is a happy thing that they 
have discovered more land to the South, and it is all taken 
possession of in the name of Queen Victoria. We shall 
want room, space for vitality — we shall be so thick here, 
that we shall nudge each other into the sea for standing- 
room ; and, if the manufactory monopolists have it all their 
own way, we shall have to import pap. There is a state of 
things to look to — to import pap, and grow infants ! ! 

I wish, Eusebius, you had the nursing of half-a-dozen of 
them for a month or two, that you might congratulate me. 
I cannot but imagine I see you, Philosopher Eusebius, 
officially petticoated for your new duties — now half-dis- 
tracted with an ebullition of squalling, and your own utter 



86 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

incapacity; and now trying to interpret and reduce into 
some of your recondite and learned languages, inarticulate 
sounds — practising the nurse's vocabulary, and speculating 
upon it as a charm ; while the poor things, all their little 
wants neglected, would treat you as the lady's lapdog did 
the private tutor of Lucian, showing indignity to the Greek 
philosopher's beard. Then should I like to congratulate you 
on your acceptance of office ! 

You see what babble you have set me into — showing the 
state I am getting into — the second state of it! Never 
mind, Eusebius ! You will come to it too : you get a little 
garrulous, and not with knowledge neither. We have both, 
as the world goes, a lack enough of that. You and I should 
both be plucked at an infant school; and take care they 
don't set up one in every parish, for children from five feet 
eight to six feet high ! Yet I should not wonder if 
you were to take upon yourself to be examiner. Don't do 
it ! Children now are born with knowledge in their heads, 
more than you or I had acquired at the age of ten ! Every 
one now is a young Hermes : they are born with so much in 
their heads, they look overloaded with it, like human tad- 
poles ; and that is the reason they can't stand, and, when 
they do begin to walk, go at an amazing pace, because they 
can't stand steady under it ; and that sort of mad run is 
nowadays called, to give some dignity to the absurdity, 
" the march of intellect ! " Don't say any more — such a one 
has no more sense than a child ; or, if you do, clothe it 
in Greek — for I don't think the infant schoolmistress is 
yet mistress of that — so you may just spout it out from 
Menander — 

"' C H vra.vTU.'Xa.ffi vraihu-Qiov <yva/u.r,v i%u." 

Greece was said to be the " cradle of the arts ; " but now 
arts, and sciences too, spring from every cradle. When a 
child throws out his five fingers, you may conclude he is 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 87 

calculating, mvrtoZstut : lie has algebraised before lie can 

speak — 

" And lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came ! ' 

The cradle is the tiling — it beats Babbage's calculating 
machine out and out, for the child jumps out of it into the 
grown man ;. while nothing is ever likely to come out of the 
other. But the greatest of calculators may go back to the 
cradle, if he live long enough. Perhaps you and I, Eusebius, 
may be amusing ourselves with our second playthings, and 
not know it. As Lord Chesterfield said of himself and Lord 
Tyrawley, " Tyrawley and I have been dead these two 
years, but we don't choose to have it known." Though you 
were as big as the Gallic Hercules, you may come to swim 
your boat again. Here was a pretty child's comfort in old 
age : " You see how I comfort myself in my old age : I 
launch my little bark once more, which had been long laid 
by ; repair, rig, and furnish it, and boldly venture it into the 
middle of the ocean. Fan it, ye gods, with a propitious 
breeze, for now, if ever, I want a favourable wind to swell 
my sails." Why, nowadays, there is not an infant of three 
years that would not be ashamed of this childishness. Folly, 
fanning her u Ship of Fools " — of old fools, Eusebius — and 
the whole infant school standing by, shouting " good voyage 
to you ! " laugh at it, Eusebius, if you can, and you have the 
gift of laughter. To come into the world crying, and to go 
out of it laughing, is the end of the fool's philosophy. But 
take care, as I was going to say, you don't laugh too much, 
nor at too many things, nor at too many men, women, no, 
nor children either ; or, as the world is going, you may 
chance to have the laugh against you : and mock not me in 
my grand paternity. Such things must happen ; but let us 
take them quietly — not go cackling about, like the stupid 
hen telling the whole parish about her one egg. Rejoice as 
much as you like when your own quiver is full, and then it 



88 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

will be time to have a grand " archery meeting." " Many a 
man," they say, " talks of Kobin Hood that never shot with 
his bow." Pnt yourself in the predicament, and then banter 
about other people's bantlings. Who ever heard of such a 
thing before, as being complimented upon being a grand- 
father ? In all your learning, where do you find that ? Tele- 
machus's grandfather was quietly passed off to pig with the 
swineherd, and plant cabbages, or something of that kind. 
Your pattern of female virtues, Andromache, endearingly 
calls her Hector her father, her mother, &c, but never goes 
further back. " Cousin, uncle, aunt," was left for very bur- 
lesque. Even Sheridan's unlicensed wit (yet am I not wrong 
there, for he was licensed, or the theatre was) never touched 
the grandfather. He is the very old nurse's scarecrow to 
frighten children, or was — for children, though now born 
frightful, are not born frightenable. He used to be the 
" father long-legs, that couldn't say his prayers," and there- 
fore to be " taken by his left leg and thrown down- stairs " — 
and he is treated accordingly as worse than an infidel. 
There is a style of certain favourite " Good Books for 
Children " which always tell them how Master Bad-boy, of a 
year or two old, was all of a sudden, instanter, without a why 
or wherefore, in the midst of his wicked idleness, converted 
into Mr Good-boy, and went and preached to his wicked, 
abominable, old grandfather, and converted him — a child 
upon the forlorn hope. They are mere pegs to hang any- 
thing upon, just as authors choose : if they speak of them at 
all, it is not with respect. Do you know a single novel 
wherein the grandfather is the hero ? If one is unfortunate 
enough to be introduced, is he not sure to be knocked on the 
head at last, that the happy couple may enjoy his fortune ? 
He is generally killed outright, to get rid of him as soon as 
possible ; and he is made unamiable, a sour, morose, and 
stingy curmudgeon, that none may regret his departure. 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 89 

He is made a glutton, to be more readily despatched by 
apoplexy, and is given fairly to understand that he was 
introduced for no other earthly reason than to be got 
rid of, 

" Edisti satis atque bibisti, 
Tempus abire tibi est." 

And so generally ends that " Tale of a Grandfather." 
Grandfathers are not introduced into plays either, because 
they are so put aside in real life — only considered just to 
give their names to their grandchildren, as if it were no 
longer fit to be their own. At best, they are each in his 
son's or daughter's family but a sort of head-nurse, to take 
the children an airing, to lift them over stiles, and if any- 
thing goes wrong, the veriest urchins are ready enough to 
pin the fault on the right person. I said they were not 
introduced upon the stage, but they are, in the old fool that 
runs after his runaway Columbine ; and do not your Terences 
and Plautuses exhibit you the same folly ? If authors of 
any kind have anything to do with them at all, it is to put 
them in some ridiculous light — they are expected to do all 
sorts of impossibilities. 

" A painted vest Prince Vortigern had on, 
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire icon.'''' 

Who but a grandsire would have been sent upon such a 
fool's errand as that ? So it ever was. Your favourite 
classics do not treat them much better — Admetus coolly asks 
the grandfather of his children (in the Alcestis of Euripides) 
to step out of the world for him into the grave, with no more 
ado than if he had requested him to step to the corner of 
the street to the apothecary's, for his elixir of life. And 
how often do those old authors make the old gentleman per- 
fectly ridiculous, by assuming in their names and persons an 
extraordinary imbecile fury, when in their feebleness they 
snatch up arms and talk big ? And your friend Virgil sins 



90 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

in this way : had he had the good taste of Homer before him, 
who treats old Priam with singular respect, he would never 
have so put to death even the progenitor of such a numerous 
race, nor made him hurl his " telum imbelle sine ictit." But 
this author treats them throughout infamously. Only see 
the ridiculous position of Anchises riding pick-a-back, with 
all Ascanius's playthings in his hands, and you see plainly 
enough he has nothing to do after but to die and be for- 
gotten ; for his famous doings are not in the catalogue for 
the young Ascanius's remembrance, but it is — 

" Et pater ^Eneas et avunculus excitat Hector." 

But to speak of Virgil before Homer, is indeed to put the 
cart before the horse — and a lumbering sonorous cart too, 
that had carried dung for the pitchfork, and Tityrus's cheese 
to market, before it was laden with the remnant of furniture 
saved from Troy ; so, be that as it may — go back to the 
original genius of epic and of history. I reminded you how 
old Laertes was treated ; with that exception, the good 
Homer is nearly the only author that fairly respects the 
" venerables." Hobbes, by the by, in his translation of a 
passage of Homer in Thucydides, calls their wives their 
"venerable bedfellows." Homer, I say, does treat Priam 
with respect, and gives him a god as a conductor — the old 
king is never made ridiculous. Alcinous too, who, if he was 
not actually, was on the point of being a grandfather, does 
nothing absurd. There is only the slightest hint given that 
he is a little under the family rule, just enough to show what 
he was coming to — the being made a grandfather. One 
ought to be ashamed to speak of that mythology ; but it 
shows the manners of that age — and others are too like it ; 
do any of his grandchildren show respect for discarded 
Saturn ? He had swallowed stones enough to mend the 
roads of a county, yet is as quietly set aside as the giant 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 9L 

Eabelais speaks of, who, though he had swallowed wind- 
mills, was choked with a pat of butter. You, Eusebius, 
have always the classics in your mouth ; so I bring them 
to your remembrance, that you may see even through their 
spectacles, that there is no occasion to congratulate any 
one on the birth of a grandchild. But if authors so treat or 
pass by these aged gentlemen, tell me, if you can, any one 
author of tale, novel, or play, that ever wrote a line for a 
grandfather reader. Neither " gentle reader," nor " cour- 
teous reader," is addressed to them. It is curious, but, if 
you consider it, you will find, that by nearly all authors' 
eyes, their readers are seen distinctly as considerably under 
thirty years of age — most, indeed, are under twenty ! You 
see at once what tastes authors cater for. There is little, 
indeed, in common with any but mere juvenile heads and 
hearts. Amidst all the mass of daily literature, either to 
amuse or to instruct, there is scarcely a soothing plaster for 
old age — even our modern divines have given up grandsires 
and grandmothers. They belong to the Hospital of Incur- 
ables. They are not excitable enough ; and can't learn so 
easily the trick, nor acquire the privilege, of presenting 
gloves, nosegays, and silver tea-spoons : so that there is 
scarcely a stray sermon printed for them, and that only by 
subscription. They are, in fact, expected to read nothing 
but the newspapers, which are common to all ; and they are 
printed in such wretchedly small type, as plainly to show 
that such readers are not much thought of. No, Eusebius ; 
the "reading public" are under age. The young march of 
intellect has tripped up the old one's heels — the abstruse 
sciences are reduced to easy slip-slop literature for the 
young. A child may teach his grandfather, but a grand- 
father will never teach his child again : so that race are 
altogether left out of consideration, even in publications of 
" Tutors' Assistants." There has been, indeed, a sort of 



92 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

attempt of late to get up statistics for the old folk ; but it is 
a lame and quizzical thing. 

I am told that now there are very few grandsires in the 
great scientific body peripatetic. They run about the world at 
such a rate — " modo me Thebis modo ponit Athenis " — that 
the respectably aged scientifics cannot possibly keep pace 
with them. Even if they can bear the fatigue of getting to 
the places, they are sadly foot-weary with the perpetual 
motion required, the very first day of the series ; so they get 
knocked up — die off — and the rest take warning ! 

I tell you, the whole system of things is a sort of general 
vote of mankind, that there are to be neither grandfathers 
nor grandmothers — that is, acknowledged as such ; of which 
many must be exceedingly glad, seeing that their grandsires 
have been something like their old clothes, rather shabby 
a inexpressibles." We follow the fashion of "Young France," 
and kick " Old France ! " Then, too, writers are all for 
young readers : we are begrudged our very spectacles that 
we should read at all ! 

The last professed author that wrote for grandsires was 
the kind-hearted Sir Walter Scott ; and that he did in some 
of his prefaces. Fielding, however, before him, was glorious 
in this respect. Tom Jones is a wonderful work : there are 
nuts to crack in it for those who have cut their wise teeth ; 
it is deep, and there is something for every time of life. 

But, Eusebius, if literature thus shamefully passes old 
grandfathers, or treats them contemptuously, what say you 
to music and painting ? Handel and Purcell composed 
music for men, grand and thought- creating ! Who composes 
music now, but mere tintinnabula of folly or licentiousness, 
with their butterfly flip-flap flights, and die-away cadences ? 
I am sure of this — that neither grandfathers nor grand- 
mothers ought to be present when their grandchildren trill 
and warble interminable variations, that either have no 



■» 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 03 

'' 
or a bad one. The present musical world won't / , 

compose for those old people who go about with cotton in jj 

their ears ; and really, as things are, the best thing they can 

do is not to take it out, but to add a little more wadding, 

that they might have a chance of not hearing ! 

Painting is worse. Look at the print-shops, and tell me 
what you see there fit for a grandfather's eyes : there is no 
appeal to his taste — to his feelings. We no longer have put 
before us the fine, pure, dignified subjects of saints and mar- 
tyrs, nor grave and poetic history — painting heroic virtue, 
or meditation meet for age. We have prettiness for children 
without end — plenty for that age which " gaudet equis 
canibusque ; " and wanton portraits, that shame the sitters, 
and make sinners. They won't now, Eusebius, give a penny 
for a " Belisarius ; " and our " Books of Beauty " are not for 
elders. 

The arts, then, are not for us : and what is ? Why, really, 
the only thing I can think of at present are easy-chairs ! 
They are, in spite of the young world and young taste, made 
for us — at least, if not made for us, they suit us well, though 
they may owe their origin to the enervated and debilitated 
frames of the younger. Yet they do induce us to keep 
within doors, and enjoy an otium cum dignitate ; and thereby 
we old folks may save the reproach of casting a contempt 
upon age, as Bacon said we do, when old men sit basking in 
the sun at their doors in the open streets. You see by this 
remark of his, how well he knew that the tide of favour ran 
hard against grandfathers. And I think I have said enough, 
my dear Fusebius, to convince you of that, and that your 
congratulation was more than superfluous. So let us make 
the best of it, and see if there is not some pleasant feeling 
after all, soothing and deluding us at times into a belief that 
there is a gift conferred in this birth. There is a feeling of 
continuity of existence — " quod facit per alteram facit per 

! T 



9-1 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 



se." If so, the things we now handle and see, all that makes 
to us the world, will be felt, seen, enjoyed by ourselves — our 
other selves having the same consciousness of identity we 
now have — when we shall be bodily no more ; so that we 
may be in both worlds — in some way we can't tell how, but 
feel we may — at one and the same time. Grandchildren, 
then, are the links connecting both worlds. We transmit to 
posterity. That word " transmit " implies that our act is 
continuous, for we do not altogether let go — what we trans- 
mit is even a part of ourselves, not only in outward resem- 
blance, which is wonderfully strong (for it is said that chil- 
dren are more like their grandfathers than their fathers) ; but 
our minds, our dispositions, tastes, nay, extraordinary as it 
may seem, what we acquire. So that it would take a great 
many generations to reduce man to a savage — many genera- 
tions before all acquired by ancestors would become weak in 
the transmission, and then cease. You surely do not think 
that the immediate progeny of the first wild horse could be 
compared with the after stock, after the race had gone some 
generations through the riding- school. Nor is this very 
difficult of physical solution ; for the brain is the seat of sen- 
sation — there all nerves centre ; the education which affects 
that, by that affects the whole ; and thus, if we may so say, 
an educated quality is given, and passed on, and so in suc- 
cession. Well, then, the old folks sometimes sit in their 
easy-chairs, and in conceit of all their own fancies, think all 
will be continued by and in their pet grandchildren ; and so 
they go on improving their estates and houses — nay, their 
breed of horses and dogs, pigs and poultry ; and on their 
deathbeds even give directions for the planting potatoes, 
which they think they shall eat by deputy. This is pleasant ; 
they see the chubby things all alive and kicking, and satisfy 
themselves with a continuity of existence, saying, where I 
am death is not — and in those dear creatures I shall be. If 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 95 

that bit of philosophy did not deserve a comfortable nap 
— you may be sure it was conceited in an arm-chair, cushioned 
with "all appliances and means to boot," — it must be an 
unpurchasable commodity. "Non gemmis, neque purpura 
venale, nee auro." Here, then, I did not " sleep with my 
fathers," but with my grandchildren : that dream of life did 
not last long ; for my neighbour the vicar of F., with more 
and harder nails in his shoes than on his toes and fingers — 
those of the latter are no beauties — came stumping into the 
room and woke me. The first thing I did was to talk to him 
of his grandchildren, and of the last, and the vain man pulled 
a letter from his son-in-law out of his pocket, and read this 
sentence — " Dear little Georgy, your favourite and namesake, 
although he is a sweet creature, he is the most troublesome 
I ever saw, and would require two servants instead of one ; 
his mother has no peace, day or night." Now, what do you 
think of that ? In waking thoughts could I congratulate 
him, excepting that for the present he is out of the way of 
" the sweet creature ? " But let him grow up, and if he does 
not plague his grandfather, he won't end as he has begun. 
But mine is a granddaughter — no young wild fellow, who 
must have wild oats to sow — yes, sow — and put his grand- 
father's breast to the plough, to do the hard work for him — 
mine is a granddaughter ! To speculate, then, in that line : 
All is yet to come ; for even in a year or two she will be not 
like what she is now. There is a run of questions, such as 
• — will she be gentle or a hoyden? — will she be wise or a 
fool, or neither ? — simply intelligent or stupid ? — will she 
have a hoarse or a soft voice ?— a pleasant or a vile temper ? 
It is impossible to describe to you, Eusebius, the nervous 
interest the mere questioning of this kind creates ; alternately 
comes discomfort and pleasure. To run through the moral 
virtues and religious duties — how will she behave in them 
— is really running the gauntlet like a coward. Health and 



96 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

sickness follow — and tlien — but I won't anticipate any other 
evil at any rate : but all I can say is, that my friend the 
vicar's daughter, that had given birth to this troublesome 
child, had been brought up most tenderly, doated upon by 
father and mother, caressed and petted every hour of the 
day for eighteen years, so that you would have thought 
father, mother, and daughter could not have lived apart from 
each other a week; but at eighteen she coolly walked off one 
morning with a lieutenant of maiines, whom she had not 
known more than two months, finding she could not live 
without him — and as soon as she was married gave this 
account of it to her distressed parents : — 

" My vert dear Papa and Mamma — I could not really help 
it, Charles Henry is so gentle, so kind, so dear a man, so do, dear 
Pa and Ala, forgive us ; we could not, you see, live without each 
other, and I assure you it was all grandpapa's doing, for he was 
always saying Avkat a nice man Charles Henry is — aud so, old as 
he is, he must know ; so if there is any one to blame, it is grand- 
papa — Your most dutiful and affectionate, 

,c Letitia Smallarms." 

It is quite frightful, my dear Eusebius, to think of. Shall I 
have to pet this little dear troublesome creature of mine, to 
coax and be coaxed — and then be the only one to be blamed 
if anything goes wrong ? She won't go to a nunnery — you 
may be sure of that ! So the safer way is in the beginning 
to keep one's affections within bounds. Grand-paternity (is 
there such a word ?) is like a disease, like the ague — it has 
its hot and its cold fit. So T could now go on the other 
tack, and congratulate the sweet little beauty — for such I take 
it for granted she is — in being born into this world, while it 
is, as so many tell us, rapidly advancing towards its perfec- 
tion : and in consequence, all that are born in it now are in 
themselves more perfect, to biing about and be fit for that 
perfect state of things. She might have been brought into 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 97 

the world before the patent-grand pianos were invented, 
before any pianos at all, even before spinettes — some young 
ladies would shudder to think they might have been born 
before Byron and Moore, but that I don't think much of. 
The " Melodies " may be very well, but " Corsairs " and 
those sort of things don't tend to promote the wishes of 
grandfathers. She might have been born before " finishing 
schools " had been set up, and never properly learnt to step 
in and out of a carriage, before carriages were known, or 
even pattens invented, and then would never have read Gay's 
Trivia, and perhaps never will as it is, for in these scientific 
days it might be called trivial reading — excuse the pun — it 
is a little relief in a subject melancholy enough — the cold 
fit's coming. She might have come into an unadorned 
world, before the art of painting on velvet, or any other 
painting. What a thought ! to have been born when the 
only pictures were the Picts, and they in sad lack of clothing I 
She might have come before worsted- work slippers and 
purses were ready to her hand — might have walked about 
without a jupon or even a flannel petticoat, or only with a 
gonnella just up to her knees, like Guarini's " Pastorella." 
She might have been burnt for a witch, or in bloody Queen 
Mary's days for not being one. She might have been her 
own great-great-grandmother, and be now kneeling in effigy 
in the chapel at K., painted in black dress with white ruffs 
and red cheeks, eight daughters behind her, all growing 
small by degrees and beautifully less. She might have come 
as her great-great-aunt by the mother's side, and married 
the gardener, and thus hurt the genealogy tree — which, as 
Butler says, is like a turnip, with the best part underground. 
That genealogy tree — how queer to think of ! Out of vene- 
ration will she date from me — rfrom me, properly heralded 
and painted lying flat on my back, with a stake through my 
body branching off into a tree, an heraldic Polydorus — and 

G 



98 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

so framed and glazed shall I be put up in her boudoir, and 
in that of all that follow her, while my real and true portrait 
shall be stuck up in a garret, from which in due time it shall 
have dropped off the nail, and some sixth or seventh in 
descent, a wicked urchin, will shoot at me for practice with 
his bow and arrow, and for joke blacken my eyebrows with 
the smut and smoke of a candle? There was, however, a 
country gentleman that did worse, for he hired a painter to 
put wigs upon his family portraits of Vandyke. I rejoice 
she wasn't born a puritan, and shouldn't like her to have 
gone to the theatre in Charles the Second's days — she might 
then neither have been pure nor puritan. No — if she could 
have been better born, she could not have been born better 
than now — so it verifies and comes at last to the old saying, 
" no time like the present." So it is nonsense to think of 
what might have been ; let us be contented with what is ; 
and now, Eusebius, let us just go and take a look at the 
infant. I don't think this is very much in your way. You 
shall see it through my eyes, and you won't think they are 
too partial. To look at an infant, though, is not always very 
easily done ; you must speak to nurse first, for infants keep 
a sort of court, and have their antechambers, and mistresses 
of the robes too, and don't lie now, as your friend and 
favourite Horace did, the "animosus infans," when the doves 
came and covered him with leaves. Our infants are not so 
easily got at. They used to have, what now I can't exactly 
say, but so it was — as many wrappings as a mummy, lying 
in a pyramid of clothes. And so they should, for is not an 
infant, Eusebius, the only mysterious personage in a house ? 
all else you can scan, and know what they think ; you read 
them — but an infant — what do you know about that ? what 
is its consciousness, what is its mind, that which is above 
life, where too there is but a little of life to overpower the 
divince particulam aurce ? It is the living miracle of the 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 99 

house : the coming into this world and the going out of it 
are the great mysteries which, though of human sufferance, 
are entirely out of all human knowledge — the living mystery 
is an infant. It is a pretty and a fond conceit, that when 
they smile in their sleep they are communicating with 
angels, those whom they were, as the nurses fondly think, 
conversant with before their entering on life. They are at 
once beautiful and awful ; I wonder not, as parents look, 
they make them their idols and worship them, this natural 
affection moving, as it were, in more than Pythian majesty. 
For they cannot speak, we read they dare not speak. They 
have that in them they must not tell ; Deus ora frcenat — 
thus the prophetess was made dumb : in as great a mystery 
utterance has never been given. There lies the child, we 
think, and it knows, and it alone, an incommunicable truth 
— that must not be intrusted to memory, but goes, and is 
utterly lost as humanity grows. This is too deep specula- 
tion, Eusebius ; we are lost in it, and shall never make any- 
thing of it ; let us, as the poet says, touch a lighter strain. I 
asked you to look at the infant with me or through me — there 
isn't much difference. If we hit the "mollia tempora fandi," 
and the nurse be in good humour, it is a pretty sight enough 
— she knows how to set it off to some advantage, to make it 
look straight, or not look at all, which is perhaps best, and 
as the infantine arms make their uncertain jerks, she gently 
waves the creature to make you believe the little unknown 
has intentions of grace, an air of welcome to visitors and 
beholders ; and when she perceives the unmeaning eyes to 
be twisting and rolling themselves as if to get out of their 
sockets, she adroitly and delicately dandles it upward, that 
it might feel the air fanning its eyeballs, and by instinct 
close the eyelids. These are the fine arts of nurses, and 
they paint you thereby as pretty babies as Guido — and he 
studied all their ways ; and, Eusebius, did you ever see his 



100 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

picture of trie Murder of the Innocents ? I wonder mothers 
can ever look at it when I find the remembrance of it so 
touches the heart of a grandfather ; perhaps it is because I 
am but a young one. At such times, then, when, as in all 
shows, the shower is pleased, it is a pleasant sight, a very- 
pretty sight, one that Correggio loved and made of immortal 
beauty, but not " a beauty without paint " — but if the nurse 
chooses to give you an ugly view, it would be difficult to 
make a mask ugly enough to represent it — and what can I 
do with a pen-and-ink sketch, to represent more colours than 
the rainbow has, and none so bright ? Whatever was angelic 
is gone — feature there is none left, but one shapeless mouth 
— that which was but recently the very rose-bud of beauty, 
the sole index of expression in an infantine face, suddenly 
expands, distends, and fills up the whole face, a wondrous 
chasm for such a creature, and no %ao^' b ovruv either. You 
look in wonder if it can ever get into its place again. The 
mouth is all and all to a child. Its very tears come through 
the mouth — so it cries entirely with the mouth ; the only 
means by which it can make known its pleasure or pain. 
Nature has, therefore, given it a wonderful power ; it can 
contract to a button or enlarge itself to a pocket. A friend 
of mine once told me that the reason his youngest son had 
so large a mouth was this — that he was, during the boy's 
infancy, very much engaged in authorship, and finding him- 
self disturbed continually by the child's crying, he hit upon 
the expedient of having a pap dish and spoon always at one 
elbow, and the child's cradle was at the other ; so whenever 
the urchin began to set up his pipes, in went the spoon into 
his mouth, and " that spoon," said he, " being a table-spoon, 
and going in so often, it stretched the boy's mouth so that it 
never could recover — and that is the reason my son Timothy 
has such a big mouth." I mention this as a caution to all 
mothers and nurses, more particularly as big mouths require 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 101 

more to fill them all through life, and less good comes out of 
them. The beauty and ugliness of the same child are quite 
surprising. The most whimsical account of the ugliness of 
one is in Homer's Hymn to Pan. The wood-god sees some 
nymphs at a fountain, bounds in among them, and, I suppose 
to quiz him, they sing of his birth, how his father Hermes 
fell in love with Dry ope, and she — but see the hymn — 

" She bore him a wonderful son, 
Goat-footed, Capricorn, rough, 
With a strange visage curled into laughter and fun, 
And indeed it was frighful enough ; 
For the nurse, in dismay, ran shrieking away, 
When she saw the babe bearded and bluff." 

The idea of his frightening his nurse is capital — and I don't 
wonder at it — for really the infantine faces one does some- 
times see, especially w T hen presented as particular dears, do 
make one very desirous to walk off as soon as possible. 
Now I know well there will be a digression classical, and all 
to please you, who I verily believe had rather, for the sake 
of the Greek, dandle and kiss an infant Pan, though black as 
a tinker, than my lady Grace's milk-white baby. Pan's 
father, Hermes, then was a wag — he was so tickled with his 
own child's ugliness, that he tried to look like.it, all he 
could : and he became so expert at last, that the mother 
goddesses used to ask him to put on the look to frighten 
their little celestials, when they did not behave themselves. 
Callimachus says he acted Cyclops, Argus, and Steropes, 
for the purpose — but the fact was, it was nothing but Pan's 
face he put on. However, I give the passage from Calli- 
machus, because it shows how the celestials treated their 
children, and that " raw-head and bloody-bones " is of anti- 
quity, and should be respected on that account a little — 
not so utterly discarded as now by modern educationists. 
Hope and fear are both implanted in us, and I suppose both 



102 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

work good — and unless fear have fair play, the child will 
grow up a conceited imp, and perhaps worship nothing but 
its own glorified self — you want the passage from Callimachus, 
which I promised you — so take it — 

" They [the ocean's gentle daughters] trembled with affright. 
As well may be ; for even Queens celestial, when long past 
Their childhood years, with shuddering fears, behold the monsters vast. 
And often in their infant state, and difficult to please, 
Hard to obey a mother's sway, they hear such words as these ; 
; Come, C3'clops, Argus, Steropes, come take the wayward child.' 
Then Hermes he within besoots his face, and looking wild, 
Comes forth a Cyclop grim and gruff; the affrighted infant flies 
To her mother's breast, all closely press' d both hands before her eyes." 

But of all the infants of whom we have record, this 
Hermes himself was the most wonderful — show me the lad 
at an infant-school that could come near him. Born in the 
morning, he played upon the lyre the evening of the same 
day — not only played upon it, but made it, invented it. 
Here was an " infant lyrist" — what are your infant Lyras to 
him? After playing a few tunes, and among them, " Over 
the hills and far away," the conceit enters him, and off he 
sets, only a day old, over the hills indeed, to steal Apollo's 
cows. He stole 'em and killed 'em, and returned, slipped 
through the key-hole and into his cradle in no time. Apollo 
finds him out and comes to his mother's cave for him. The 
description of the infant affecting sleep is excellent — a most 
perfect imitation of everything infantine — 

" Down to the cavernous chamber stepp'd 
Apollo, the far-darting god, 
The threshold in his wrath he trode. 
Him Hermes saw, duck'd down and crept 
Under his cradle clothes, hands, feet and all, 
Huddled up close together, like a ball. 
Or smouldering faggot underneath its heap 
Of ashes ; thus lay Hermes in his nest, 
As 'twere a new-wash'd baby mass of sleep. 
Yet there withal his tortoise-shell he press' d 
Tenderly under his infant arms cai*ess'd." 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 103 

He didn't want a nurse to sing to him. 

" Hey diddle diddle, 
The cat and the fiddle," 

would never have done for him. He composed his own 
music, and his own words. He made his instrument — 

" This done, he aptly held his new-wrought toy, 
And with his plectrum smartly struck 
The strings alternate, that off shook 
Up from beneath his hands sounds of wild joy, 
Wonderfully bright — then gain'd he skill to reach 
A prelude in true notes, to each 
Carelessly humming, not with speech 
Articulate, at first, and story ; 
Till, warm'd, he reach' d his infant glory, 
And broke forth impi-ovisatore." 

It is not wonderful if the first subject of his singing was 
quizzing his grandfather — for of him we are told he sang, 
and one may easily conjecture in what vein. Now here, 
Eusebius, I think one might make a grave note in the 
manner of learned commentators, and remark as I do not 
think any before me have done, that, after all, the child's 

" Hey diddle diddle, 
The cat and the fiddle, 
The cow jump'd over the moon, 
The little dog laugh'd to see such fine sport, 
And the dish ran away with the spoon," 

may owe its origin to this first song of Hermes, and partly 
to his story of making his fiddle, of stealing the cow and 
leading it a pretty dance, poetically over the moon — and the 
dish and the spoon he certainly sang of. For " the little 
dog laughed" is evidently Hermes himself, for a sad little 
dog was he certainly — the term is most characteristic — 

" He sang of the pots and pans, 
In the nymph's magnificent hall, 
Of the nipperkins, cups, and cans, 
The kettles, and skillets, and all." 



104 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 

It will hardly do to talk any more about infants after such 
a specimen, quite enough to check the growing pride of any 
grandfather, if he venture upon comparison. It would barely 
do to speak of Garagantua himself, who had seventeen 
thousand nine hundred and thirteen cows of the towns of 
Pautille and Breemond appointed for him, to furnish him 
with milk in ordinary. And this puts an idea of another 
note into my head, as a hint to a future historian of our 
country in the reign of Queen Victoria. That the farmers 
of Pennard in Somersetshire were so excessively ignorant, 
as really to believe that the Queen of England, like a qneen 
ant, must be bigger than any other of her kind ; and, dis- 
cussing the subject, their ideas become so enlarged, as is 
wont to be the case, that they actually appointed a like 
number of cows as were appointed to Garagantua, to furnish 
her Majesty with a cheese for luncheon. I do not imagine 
the Pennard farmers had ever read Rabelais ; but nature is 
nature — and this of the Queen and the farmers is a sketch 
from nature. But I cannot give you an immediate sketch 
from nature of my grandchild. She is out of sight, like a 
precious gem as she is, packed in cotton, gone to her 
innocent dreams, and will awaken, if not in a squall, to an 
admiring world. Did you ever look with an artist's eye at 
an infant's hand and foot ? — they are the prettiest of embryo 
instruments, unless they be of the downright clown progeny, 
then they are a little indicative of the spade use — one to hold 
firm, the other to press down, pede fossor. The present help- 
less uselessness of the most helpful and useful of our members, 
of itself makes infancy a thing sui generis. The hand that is 
hereafter to cut down a cuirassier or to fell oaks by the hun- 
dred, could not for the life of it hold a pin. Yet hold — my 
granddaughter is not destined to do such execution. The 
little angelic-looking hand — is it a fancy, or is the habit 
handed on ? — but the fourth finger of the left hand is surely 



GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 105 

a little pirky up out from the rest, as if it knew it was to have 
the ring ; while the whole right hand is grasping — as if 
practising " to have and to hold." It is plain the child takes 
after the mother. And did you ever note the form of infants, 
how unlike the after growth ? They come into the world 
with everything to learn, and so nature provides them with 
heads in proportion to a world of learning — every organ full; 
then there is the body, so much out of size with regard to the 
limbs — that is the stock to grow out of. Other limbs are not 
wanted, so they are for the present left to themselves ; and 
ill would they shift for themselves if they had anything to do 
— for they are cold ; all the vitality, as yet but weak, is 
gathered together, that none of its force should be wasted, 
and is in the main trunk — so that you generally find the 
extremities of children cold. Then as growth comes on, 
what a change ! Vitality is strong and compact, youth pinches 
in the waist, there is no longer the big trunk, and the vital 
heat can afford to be dissipated, to be thrown into the extre- 
mities, that they too may be called into vigorous action, and 
at the same time carry off the fever heat and violence of 
grown nature. Then again when we decline, as it is fairly 
enough said, to second childhood, how certain is the return ! 
The vital heat retreats to the citadel, and calls in all its 
forces, to maintain that which has less strength, and cannot 
afford to be dissipated ; and so old people have cold hands 
and cold feet again, the trunk increases, and there is room for 
the whole strength to garrison in. The hot-headed youth, 
and cool-headed man, are expressions from which, and from 
observation, I collect the above ; and that is quite as much 
physical knowledge of the matter as you or I want to have. 
So pass we on, and consider what a wonderful thing is the 
<p%ovri6rrigiov — the " knowledge box," and it need be capacious. 
The amazing power of children to learn is most striking to 
any one who for the first time crosses the Channel ; he hears 



106 GRANDFATHERS AND GRANDCHILDREN. 






an urchin talk, and even cry, and complain, and scold, and go 
through all the exercises of humanity, in French — a mere 
infant of some two or three years, in a language that he has 
been in vain hammering at perhaps for twice as many years. 
But without going to France, is it not a wonder that the 
child should speak the Somersetshire language, or speak 
Devonshire, as the Eolliad has it? And yet these very 
Somersets and Devons, had accident made them open their 
eyes in India or Arabia, would, in a year or two, have spoken 
Hindostanee, and beaten out and out the Oxford and Cam- 
bridge professors of Arabic. When you hear mothers and 
nurses talk to children, you must admire the difficulty put 
upon them in learning any language. How is the pure 
monosyllabic Saxon converted into a jargon Tonicised — 
G-eorgy-porgy and coachy-poachy. Is this what Aristotle 
calls Xsxrt/trjv ag/juoviav? Perhaps, however, that makes us 
such a rhyming nation. Be that as it may, I dare say you 
remember Dean Swift's specimen of talk to a child ; turn to 
it, it will amuse you ; that too is a sketch from nature. 

You see by the variety of my speculations, that I begin to 
cast great things in my mind, and in truth, I find myself 
growing in fondness, and am already an incipient fool of a 
grandfather ; but I shall be cautious how I draw the curtain 
from the cradle and present the babe to your more near and 
scrutinising view T , lest I meet with what befell our friend 
Hermes we have been talking about, who wrapt up his ugly 
bantling Pan, and flew w T ith him to Olympus, and into the 
presence of the gods, with — 

" Look ye all at my beautiful child." 

They all burst out in a roar of laughter ; and perhaps I might 
join in the laugh, should one be set up, for in that case Jupiter 
was the grandfather. — Vive, Valeque. 



SITTING FOE A PORTRAIT. 

[FEBRUARY 1844.] 

What could induce you, my dear Eusebius, to commit your- 
self into the hands of a portrait-painter ? And so, you ask 
me to go with you. Are you afraid ? that you want me to 
keep you in countenance, where I shall be sure to put you 
out. You ask too petitioningly, as if you suspected I should 
refuse to attend your execution ; for you are going to be he- 
headed, and soon will it be circulated through your village, 
that you have had your head taken off. I will not go with 
you — it would spoil all. You are afraid to trust the painter. 
You think he may be a physiognomist, and will hit some 
characteristic which you would quietly let slip his notice ; 
and you natter yourself that I might help to mislead him. 
Are you afraid of being made too amiable, or too plain ? No, 
no ! You are not vain. Whence comes this vagary ? — well, 
we shall all know in good time. Were I to be with you, I 
should talk — perhaps maliciously — on purpose to see how 
your features would unsettle and shift themselves to the 
vagrant humour, that though one would know another from 
habit, and their old acquaintanceship, the painter would never 
be able to keep them steadily, together. I should laugh to 
see every lineament " going ahead," and art " non compos." 
I will, however, venture to put down some plain directions 



108 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

as to how you are to sit. First, let me tell you how you are 
not to sit. Don't, in your horror of a sentimental amiable 
look, put on yourself the air of a Diogenes, or you will be 
like nothing human — and if you shun Diogenes, you may put 
on the likeness of a still greater fool. No man living can 
look more wise than you ; but if you fall out with wisdom, 
or would in your whim throw contempt on it, no one can 
better play the fool. You are the laughing or crying Philo- 
sopher at pleasure — but sit as neither, for in either character 
you will set the painter's house in a roar. I fear the very 
plaster figures in it will set you off — to see yourself in such 
motley company, with Bacchus and Hercules, and Jupiter 
and Saturn, with his marble children to devour. You will 
look Homer and Socrates in the face ; and I know will make 
antics, throw out, and show fight to the Gladiator. This may 
be, if your painter, as many of them do, affect the antique ; 
but if he be another guess sort of person, it may be worse 
still with you. You may not have to make your bow to a 
Venus Anadyomene — but how will you be able to face the 
whole Muggletonian synod ? Imagine the " Complete Body," 
from the Evangelical Magazine, framed and glazed round the 
walls, and all looking at you in the condemned cell. Against 
this you must prepare ; for many country artists prefer this 
line to the antique. It is their connection — and should you 
make a mistake and go to the wrong man, you will most 
assuredly be added to the Convocation, if not put to head a 
controversy as frontispiece. It will be in vain for you to say, 
" Fronti nulla fides;" " yvuQi ffsavrbv" before you get there, 
or nobody will know you. Take care lest your physiognomy 
be canvassed by many more besides the painter. Are you 
prepared to have your every lineament scrutinised by every- 
body ? to hear behind a screen the disparagement of your lips, 
your eyes thought deceitful, and, in addition, a sentence of 
general ugliness passed upon you ? So you must stoop to 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 109 

paint-pots, have daubs of reds, and yellows, and greys perked 
up against your nose for comparison. Your man may be a 
fancy mesmeriser, or mesmerise you, now that it is flying 
about like an epidemic, without knowing it. If he can, he 
will surely do it, to keep you still : that is the way to get a 
good sitter. Eusebius in a coma I answering all comers, like 
one of the heads in the play of Macbeth ! But I was to tell 
you how to sit — that is the way, get into a coma — that will 
be the painter's best chance of having you ; or, when he has 
been working for hours, he may find you a Proteus, and that 
you have slipped through his fingers after all his toil to catch 
you. I will tell you what happened to a painter of my 
acquaintance. A dentist sat to him two days — the third the 
painter worked away very hard — looked at the picture, then 
at his sitter. " Why, sir," said he, " I find I have been all 
wrong — what can it be ? Why, sir, your mouth is not at all 
like what it was yesterday." " Ah ! ah ! I will tell you vat 
it ees," replied the French dentist ; " ah ! good — my mouse 
is not de same — no indeed — yesterday I did have my jaw in, 
but I did lend it out to a lady this day." Don't you think of 
this now while you are sitting. You know the trick Garrick 
played the painter, who, foiled in his attempt, started up, and 

said — " You must be Garrick or the d ! " Then as to 

attitude, 'tis ten to one but you will be put into one which 
will be quite uncomfortable to you, — one, perhaps, after a 
pattern. I should advise you to resist this — and sit easy — if 
you can. Don't put your hand in your waistcoat, and one 
arm akimbo, like a Captain Macheath, however he may entreat 
you; and don't be made looking up, like a martyr, which 
some wonderfully affect ; and don't be made to turn your 
head round, as if it was in disgust with the body ; and don't 
let your stomach be more conspicuous than the head, like a 
cucumber running to seed. Don't let him put your arm up, 
as in command, or accompanied with a rapt look as if you 



110 SITTING FOK A PORTRAIT. 

were listening to the music of the spheres ; don't thrust out 
your foot conspicuously, as if you meant to advertise the 
blacking. Some artists are given to fancy attitudes such as 
best set off the coats ; they are but nature's journeymen at 
the faces ; don't fancy that the cut, colour, or cloth of your 
coat will exempt you from the penalty of their practice. 
Why, Eusebius, they have lay-figures, and dress them just 
as you seem them at the tailor's or perfumer's ; and one of 
these things will be put up for you — a mannikin for Eusebius ! 
In such hands the coat is by far the best piece of work ; you 
may be sure your own won't be taken for a pattern. You 
will despise it when you see it, and it will be one yon can 
never change — it will defy vamping. You may be at any 
time new varnished whenever after generations shall wish to 
see how like a dancing-master the old gentleman must have 
looked. It is enough to make you a dancing bear now to 
think of it. Others, again, equip you with fur, and make 
you look as if you were in the Hudson's Bay Company's 
Service. Luckily for you, flowered dressing-gowns are out, 
or you might have been represented a Mantalini. What can 
you be doing ! It is difficult to put you in your positions. 
There are some that will turn you about and about half an 
hour or more before they begin, as they would a horse at the 
fair — ay, and look in your mouth too. If they cannot get 
you otherwise into an attitude, they will shampoo you into 
one. And remember, all this they will do, because they 
have not the skill to paint any one sitting quite easy. Don't 
have a roll in your hand — that always signifies a member of 
Parliament. Don't have your finger on a book — that would 
be a pedantry you could not endure. I cannot imagine what 
you will do with your hands. Ten to one, however, but the 
painter leaves them out, or copies them out of some print 
when you are gone. This will be picking and stealing that 
you will have no hand in. . What to do with any one's 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. Ill 

hands is a most difficult thing to say — too many do not 
know what to do with them themselves ; and, under the 
suffering of sitting, I think you will be one of them. If 
there is a child in the room, you will be making rabbits with 
your fingers. Then you are at the mercy of the painter's 
privilege — the foreground and background. If you have 
the common fate, your head will be stuck upon a red 
curtain, a watered pattern. If your man has used up his 
carmine, you will be standing in a fine colonnade, waiting 
with the utmost patience for the burst of a thunder-cloud 
that makes the marble column stand out conspicuously, 
and there will be a distant park scene ; and thus you will 
represent the landed interest : or you will perhaps have 
your glove in your hand — a device adopted by some, to 
intimate that they are hand and glove with all the neighbour- 
ing gentry. And it is a common thing to have a new hat and 
a walking-cane upon a marble table. This shows the sitter 
has the use of his legs, which otherwise might be doubted, 
and is therefore judicious. If you are supposed to be in the 
open air, you will not know at first sight that you are 
so represented, until you have learned the painter's hiero- 
glyphic for trees. You will find them to be angular sorts of 
sticks, with red and yellow flag-rags flapping about ; and ten 
to one but you have a murky sky, and no hat on your head ; 
but as to such a country as you ever walked in, or ever saw, 
don't expect to see such a one as a background to your 
picture, and you will readily console yourself that you are 
turning your back upon it. If you are painted in a library, 
books are cheap — so that the artist can afford to throw you 
in a silver inkstand into the bargain, and a pen — such a pen ! 
the goose wouldn't know it that bred it — and perhaps an open 
letter to answer, with your name on the cover. If you are 
made answering the letter, that will never be like you — per- 
haps it would be more like if the letter should be unopened. 



112 SITTING FOE A PORTRAIT. 

Now, do not flatter yourself, Eusebrus, that all these things 
are matters of choice with yon. " Non omnia possumus omnes" 

is the regular rule of the profession ; some stick to the curtain 
all their lives, from sheer inability to set it — to draw it aside. 
You remember the sign-painter that went about painting red 
lions, and his reply to a refractory landlord who insisted upon 
a white lamb. " Tou may have a white lamb if you please, 
but when all is said and done, it will be a great deal more like 
a red lion.*' And I am sorry to say. the faces too are not 
unfrequently in this predicament, for they have a wonderful 
family likeness, and these run much by counties. A painter 
has often been known totally to fail, by quitting his beat. 
There is certainly an advantage hi this ; for if any gentleman 
should be so unfortunate as to have no ancestors, he may pick 
up at random, hi any given county in England, a number that 
will very well match, and all look like blood relations. There 
is an instance where this resemblance was greatly improved, 
by the advice of an itinerant of the profession, who, at a very 
moderate price, put wigs on all the Vandykes. And there 
you see some danger, Eusebius, that — be represented how 
you may — you are not sure of keeping your condition ten 
years : you may have, by that time, a hussar cap put upon your 
unconscious head. But portraits fare far worse than that. 

I remember, when a boy, walking with an elderly gentle- 
man, and passing a broker's stall, there was the portrait of a 
fine florid gentleman in regimentals ; he stopped to look at 
it — he might have bought it for a few shillings. After we 
had gone away, — ••that." said he, '"is the portrait of my 
wife's great-uncle — member for the county, and colonel of 
militia : you see how he is degraded to these steps." " "Whv 
do you not rescue him?"" said I. "Because he left me 
nothing," was the reply. A relative of mine, an old lady, 
hit upon a happy cleyice ; the example is worth following. 
Her husband was the last of his race, for she had no children. 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 113 

She took all the family portraits out of their frames, rolled up 
all the pictures, and put them in the coffin with the deceased. 
No one was more honourably accompanied to the grave — and 
so he slept with his fathers. It has not, to be sure, Eusebius, 
much to do with your portrait, but thinking of these family 
portraits, one is led on to think of their persons, &c. ; so I 
must tell you what struck me as a singular instance of the 
" sic vos non nobis." I went with a cousin, upon a sort of 
pilgrimage at some distance, to visit some family monuments. 
There was one large handsome marble one in the chancel. 
You will never guess how it had been treated. A vicar's wife 
had died, and the disconsolate widower had caused a square 
marble tablet, with the inscription of his wife's virtues, to be 
actually inserted in the very centre of our family monument : 
and yet you, by sitting for your portrait, hope to be handed 
down unmutilated to generations to come, — yes, they will 
come, and you will be a mark for the boys to shoot peas at — 
that is, if you remain at all in the family — you may be trans- 
ferred to the wench's garret, or the public-house, and have a 
pipe popped through the canvass into your mouth, to make you 
look ridiculous. I really think you have a chance of being 
purchased to be hung up in the club parlour as pictorial 
president of the Odd-Fellows. Why should you be exempt 
from what kings are subject to? The "king's head" is a 
sign in many a highway, to countenance ill-living. You too 
will be bought at a broker's — have your name changed with- 
out your consent — and be adopted into a family whereof you 
would heartily despise the whole kith and kin. If pride has 
not a fall in the portraits of the great and noble, where shall 
we find it ? 

A painter once told me that he assisted one of the meanest 
of low rich men, to collect some family portraits ; he recom- 
mended to him a fine Velasquez. " Velasquez ! — who's he?" 
said the head of his family. — " It is a superb picture, sir — a 

ii 



114 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

genuine portrait by the Spaniard, and doubtless of some 
Spanish nobleman." " Then," said he, " I won't have it ; 
I'll have no Spanish blood contaminate my family, sir." — 
"Spanish blood," rejected by the plebeian! I have known 
better men than you, Eusebius, — excuse the comparison — 
vamped up and engraved upon the spur of the moment, for 
celebrated highwaymen or bloody murderers. But this 
digression won't help you out in your sitting. Let me see 
what the learned say upon the subject — what advice shall we 
get from the man of academies. Here we have him, Gerard 
Lairesse ; you may be sure that he treats of portrait-painting, 
and with importance enough too. Here it is — " Of Por- 
traiture." But that is far too plain. We must have an 
emblem : — 

" Emblem, touching the handling of portraits." 

" Nature with her many breasts, is in a sitting posture. 
Near her stands a little child, lifting her garment off her 
shoulders. On the other side stands Truth, holding a mirror 
before her, wherein she views herself down to the middle, 
and is seemingly surprised at it. On the frame of this glass, 
are seen a gilt pallet and pencils. Truth has a book and palm 
branch in her hand." "What do you think of that, Eusebius, 
for a position ? But why Nature or Truth should be surprised 
at viewing herself down to the middle, I cannot imagine. It 
evidently won't do to surprise you in that manner. Poor 
Gerard, I see, thinks it a great condescension in him to speak 
of portrait-painting at all ; he calls it, " departing from the 
essence of art, and subjecting (the painter) to all the defects 
of nature." Hear that, Eusebius ! you are to sit to be a speci- 
men of the defects of nature. He is indignant that " such 
great masters as Vandyke, Lely, Van Loo, the old and young 
Bakker, and others," possessed of great talents, postponed 
what is noble and beautiful to what is more ordinary. There 



SITTING FOE A PORTRAIT. 115 

you are again, Eusebius, with your ordinary visage, unworthy 
such men as the old and young Bakker, whoever they were. 
But since there must be portraits, he could endure the method 
of the ancients, who " used to cause those from whom the 
commonwealth had received extraordinary benefits, either in 
war or civil affairs, or for eminence in religion, to be repre- 
sented in marble or metal, or in a picture, that the sight of 
them, by those honours, might be a spur to posterity to emu- 
late the same virtues. This honour was first begun with 
their deities ; afterwards it was paid to heroes, and of conse- 
quence to philosophers, orators, religious men, and others, 
not only to perpetuate their virtues, but also to embalm their 
names and memories. But now it goes further ; a person of 
any condition whatsoever, have he but as much money as the 
painter asks, must sit for his picture. This is a great abuse, 
and sprung from as laudable a cause." 

Are you not ashamed to sit after that ? He is not, however, 
without his indulgences. He will allow something to a lover 
and a husband. 

" Has a citizen's wife but an only babe ? He is drawn at 
half a year old ; at ten years old he sits again ; and for the 
last time, in his twenty -fifth year, in order to show her tender 
folly : and then she stands wondering how a man can so alter 
in that time. Is not this a weighty reason ? a reprovable cus- 
tom, if painters did not gain by it. But again, portraits are 
allowable when a lover is absent from his mistress, that they 
may send each other their pictures, to cherish and increase 
their loves ; a man and wife parted so may do the same." 
You undertake, you perceive, a matter of some responsibility 
— you must account to your conscience for the act of sitting 
for your picture. Then there is a chapter upon defects, 
which, as I suppose he presumes people don't know them- 
selves, he catalogues pretty fully, till you are quite out of 
humour with poor human nature. The defects are " natural 



116 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

ones — accidental ones — usual ones." Natural. — " a wry face, 
squint eyes, wry mouth, nose," &c. Accidental. — " Loss of 
an eye, a cut on the cheek, or other part of the face, pits of 
the small-pox and the like." Usual. — " Contraction of the 
eyes and mouth, or closing or gaping of the latter, or draw- 
ing it in somewhat to this or that side, upwards or down- 
wards," &c. As for other bodily infirmities, how many have 
wry necks, hunchbacks, bandy legs — withered or short arms, 
or one shorter than another ; dead or lame hands or fingers. 
Are you so sure of the absence of all these defects, that you 
venture ? You must fancy yourself an Adonis, and not think 
that you are to be flattered, by having any very considerable 
number of your defects hid. " The necessary ones ought to 
be seen, because they help the likeness ; such as a wry face, 
squint eyes, low forehead, thinness and fatness ; a wry neck, 
too short or too long a nose ; wrinkles between the eyes ; 
ruddiness or paleness of the cheeks, or lips ; pimples or 
warts about the mouth ; and such like." After this, it is 
right you should know that "Nature abhors deformity." 
Nay, that we always endeavour to hide our own — and which 
do you mean to hide ? or do you intend to come out perfect ? 
I daresay you can discover some little habits of your own, 
Eusebius, free from vanity as you are, that tend to these 
little concealments ! Do you remember how a foolish man 
lost a considerable sum of money once, by forgetting this 

human propensity ? He had lost some money to little K , 

the deformed gambler — and being nettled at his loss thought 
to pique the winner. " I'll wager," said he, " £50, I'll point 

out the worst leg in company." — " Done," said K to his 

astonishment. " The man does not know himself," thought 

he, for there sat K crouched up all shapes by the fireside. 

The wagerer, to win his bet, at once cried, " Why, that," 

pointing to K 's leg, which was extended towards the 

grate. " No," said K , quietly unfolding the other from 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 117 

beneath the chair, and showing it, "that's worse." By 
which you may learn the fact — that every man puts his best 
leg foremost. But we must not quit our friend Gerard yet. 
I like his grave conceit. I rejoice to find him giving the 
painters a rap over their knuckles. He says, Eusebius, that 
they are fond of having " smutty pictures " in their rooms ; 
and roundly tells them, that though fine pictures are neces- 
sary, there is no need of their having such subjects as " Mars 
and Venus, and Joseph and Potiphar's wife." Now, though 
I do not think our moderns offend much in this respect, the 
hint is good — and some exhibit studies from models about 
their rooms, that evidently sat without their stays. Gerard 
was the man for contrivances — here is a capital one. He 
does not quite approve of painting a wooden leg ; but if it be 
to be done, see with what skill even that in the hands of a 
Gerard may be dignified — and the painter absolved, " lege 
solutus." " But if the hero insist upon the introducing such 
a leg, on a supposition that 'tis an honour to have lost a 
limb in his country's service, the painter must then comply 
with his desires ; or else contrive it lying on a table covered 
with red velvet" But capital as this is, it is not all; he 
quite revels in contrivances : " If he desire it after the antique 
manner, it must be contrived in a bas-relief, wherein the 
occasion of it may be represented ; or it may hang near him 
on a wall, with its buckles and straps, as is done in hunting 
equipages ; or else it may be placed among the ornaments of 
architecture, to be more in view." You see he scorns to hide 
it — has worked up his imagination to conceive all possible 
ways of showing it ; depend upon it he longed to paint a 
wooden leg, to which the face should be the appendage, the 
leg the portrait. " Hoc ligno," not " hoc signo vinces." 
But here Gerard bounces — giving an instance of a gentle- 
man "who, being drawn in little, and comparing the smallness 
of the eyes with his own, asked the painter whether he had 



118 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

such ? However, in complaisance, and for his pleasure, he 
desired that one eye at least might be as big as his own, the 
other to remain as it was." Fie, Gerard! yon have spoiled 
your emblem by taking the mirror ont of truth's hand. 

He is particular about postures and backgrounds. " It 
will not be improper to treat also about easiness and sedate - 
ness in posture, opposed to stir and bustle, and the contrary 
— namely, that the picture of a gentlewoman of repute, who, 
in a grave and sedate manner, turns towards that of her hus- 
band, hanging near it, gets a great decorum by moving and 
stirring hind-works, whether by means of waving trees or 
crossing architecture of stone and wood, or anything else 
that the master thinks will best contrast, or oppose the sedate 
posture of his principal figure." Here you see, Eusebius, how 
hind- works tend to keep up a bustle ! " And because these 
are things of consequence, and may not be plainly appre- 
hended by every one," he explains himself by ten figures in 
one plate — and such figures ! As a sitter, he would place 
you very much above the eye — that is, technically speaking, 
adopt a low horizon ; " because " — the because is a because 
— " because it's certain that when we see any painted figure, 
or object, in a place where the life can be expected, as stand- 
ing on the ground, leaning over a balcony or balustrade, or 
out at a window, &c, it deceives the eye, and by being seen 
unawares (though expected), causes sometimes a pleasing 
mistake ; or it frightens and surprises others when they meet 
with it unexpectedly, at such places as aforesaid, and where 
there is any likelihood for it." Your artist will probably put 
you on an inverted box, and sitting in a great chair, probably 
covered with red morocco leather, in which you will not be 
at home, and in any manner comfortable. We see this deal 
box sometimes converted into a marble step, as a step to a 
throne ! Gerard presents us with many methods of showing 
the different characters of persons to be painted, some of 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 119 

wliich will be novel to you. For instance, you would not 
expect directions to represent a secretary of state with the 
accompaniments of a goose. " With a secretary the statue of 
Harpocrates, and in tapestry or bas-relief, the story of Alex- 
ander shutting Hephaestion's mouth with a seal-ring ; also 
the emblem of fidelity, or a goose with a stone in its bill." 
Methinks the director, or governor, of the East India Com- 
pany must look very small beside his bedizened accessory, 
meant to represent Company. " She is to be an heroine 
with a scollop of mother-of-pearl on her head, in the nature 
of an helmet, and thereon a coral branch ; a breast ornament 
of scales ; pearls and corals about her neck ; buskins on her 
legs, with two dolphins conjoined head to head, adorned 
with sea-shells ; two large shells on her shoulders, a trident 
in her hand, and her clothing a long mantle ; a land skip 
behind her of an Indian prospect, with palm and cocoa trees, 
some figures of blacks, and elephant's teeth. This figure 
also suits an admiral, or commander at sea, when a sea-fight 
is introduced instead of a landskip." Such a figure may, 
indeed, be more at home at sea, and such a one may have 
been that famous lady, whose captain so " very much ap- 
plauded her," and 

"Made her the first lieutenant 
Of the gallant Thunder Bomb." 

Not a painter of the present day, it seems, knows how to 
paint the clergy. Mr Pickersgill has done quite common 
things, and simply shown the cloth and the band — that is 
poor device. See how Gerard would have it done. Every 
clergyman should be a Dr Beattie. " With a divine agrees 
the statue of truth, represented in a Christian-like manner, 
or else this same emblem in one of his hands, and his other 
on his breast, besides tapestries, bas-reliefs, or paintings, and 
some Christian emblems of the true faith ; and representation 
of the Old and New Testament — in the offskip a temple. " 



120 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

All the portraits of the Great Duke are defective, inasmuch 
as none of them have " Mars in a niche," or Victory sitting 
on a trophy, or a statue of Hercules. You probably have no 
idea what a great personage is a " sea-insurer." He is 
accompanied by Aiion on a Dolphin ; and in a picture a sea- 
haven, with a ship under sail making towards it; on the 
shore the figure of Fortune, and (who are, think you, the 
supercargoes?) over the cargo Castor and Pollux. In this 
mode of portrait-painting it would be absolutely necessary to 
go back to the old plan of putting the names underneath the 
personages ; and even then, though you write under such, this 
is Castor, this Pollux, and this the sea-insurer, it will ever 
puzzle the whole ship's crew to conjecture how they came 
there together. Gerard admits we cannot paint what we 
have not seen, and by example rather condemns his own 
recommendations. Fewer have seen Castor and Pollux than 
have seen a lion, and he says men cannot paint what they 
have not seen. " As was the case of a certain Westphalian, 
who, representing Daniel in the lions' den, and having never 
seen a Hon, he painted hogs instead of lions, and wrote 
underneath, * These should be lions.'" 

By this time, Eusebius, you ought to know how to sit, 
if you have not made up your mind not to sit at all. You 
need not, however, be much alarmed about the emblems — 
modern masters cut all that matter short. They won't 
throw in any superfluous work, you may be sure of that, 
unless you should sit to Landseer, and he will paint your 
dog, and throw in your superfluous self for nothing. You 
would be like Mercury with the Statuary, mortified to find 
his own image thrown into the bargain. 

Besides your own defects, you have to encounter the 
painter's. His unsteady, uncertain hand, may add an 
inch to your nose before you are aware of it. It is 
quite notorious that few painters paint both eyes of the 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 121 

same size ; and after your utmost efforts to look straight in 
his face, he may make you squint for ever, and not see that 
he has done so. Unless he be himself a sensible man, he 
will be sure to make you look like a fool. Then, what is 
like to-day will be unlike to-morrow. His megillups will 
change, so that in six months you may look like a copper 
Indian ; or the colours may fade, and leave you the ghost of 
what you were. Again, he may paint you lamentably like, 
odiously like, yet give you a sinister expression, or at least 
an unpleasant one. Then, if you remonstrate, he is offended ; 
if you refuse to take it, he writes you word that if not paid 
for and removed by next Tuesday, he will add a tail to it, 
and dispose of it to Mr Polito. Did not Hogarth do some- 
thing of this kind ? If he please himself he may not satisfy 
you, and if you are satisfied, none of your friends are, who 
take an opportunity of the portrait to say sarcastic things of 
you. For in that respect you may be most like your picture, 
or it most like you, for everybody will have some fault to 
find with it. Why, don't you remember but last year some 
friends poked out the eye from a portrait, even after it had 
been on the exhibition walls ? Then, what with the cleaning 
and varnishing, you have to go through as many disorders 
as when you were a child. You will have the picture- cleaner's 
measles. It was not long ago that I saw a picture in a most 
extraordinary state ; and on inquiry, I found that the cook of 
the house had rubbed it over with fat of bacon to make it 
bear out, and that she had learned it at a great house, where 
there is a fine collection, which are thus baconed twice every 
year. You are sure not to keep even your present good 
looks, but will become smoked and dirty. Then must you 
be cleaned, and there is an even chance that in doing it they 
put out at least one of your eyes (I saw both eyes taken out 
of a Correggio), and the new one to be put in will never 
match the other. The ills that flesh is heir to, are nothing 



122 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

to the ills its representative is heir to. At best, the very 
change of fashion in dress will make you look quizzical in a 
few years. For you are going to sit when dress is most 
unbecoming, and it is only by custom that the eye is 
reconciled to it, so that all the painted present generation 
must look ridiculous in the eyes of posterity. Don't have 
your name put on the canvass ; then you may console your- 
self that, in all these mortal chances and changes, whatever 
happens to it, you will not be known. I have one before 
me now with the name and all particulars in large gilt 
letters. Happily this ostentation is out ; you may therefore 
hope, when the evil day comes, fallere, to escape notice. I 
trust the painter will give you that bold audacious look 
which may stare the beholder in the face, and deny your own 
identity ; no small advantage, for doubtless the " cjj/xara 
Xuyga" of Bellerophon was but his portrait, which, by a 
hang-look expression, intimated death. Your painter may 
be ignorant of phrenology, and, without knowing it, may 
give you some detestable bumps ; and your picture may be 
borrowed to lecture upon, at inns and institutions, and 
anecdotes rummaged up or forged, to match the painter's 
doing — the bumps he has given you. 

You must not, however, on this account, think too ill of 
the poor painter. He is subject to human infirmities — so 
are you — and his hand and eye are not always in tune. He 
has, too, to deal with all sorts of people — many difficult 
enough to please. You know the fable of the painter who 
would please everybody, and pleased nobody. You sitters 
are a whimsical set, and most provokingly shift your features 
and position, and always expect miracles, at a moment too ; 
you are here to-day, and must be off to-morrow. It is 
nothing to you that paint won't dry for you, so even that 
must be forced, and you are rather varnished in than painted, 
and no wonder if your faces go to pieces, and you become 



BITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 123 

mealy almost as soon as you have had the life's blood in 
yon, and that with the best carmine. And often you take 
upon yourselves to tell the painter what to do, as if you 
knew yourselves better than he does, though he has been 
staring at nothing but you for an hour or two at a time, 
perhaps. You ask him, too, perpetually what feature he is 
now doing, that you may call up a look. You screw up 
your mouths, and try to put all the shine you can into your 
eyes, till, from continual effort, they look like those of a 
shotten herring ; and yet you expect all to be like what you 
are in your ordinary way. After he has begun to paint 
your hair, you throw it about with your hands in all directions 
but the right, and all his work is to begin over again. You 
have no notion how ignorant of yourselves you are. I 
happened to call, some time since, upon a painter with whom 
I am on intimate terms. I found him in a roar of laughter, 
and quite alone. " What is the matter ? " said I. " Matter ! " 
replied he ; " why, here has Mr B. been sitting to me these 
four days following, and at last, about half an hour ago, he, 
sitting in that chair, puts up his hand to me, thus, with 
' Stop a moment, Mr Painter ; I don't know whether you 
have noticed it or not, but it is right that I should tell you 
that i" have a slight cast in my eye.' You know Mr B., a 
worthy good man, but he has the very worst gimlet eye I 
ever beheld." Yes, and only slightly knew it, Eusebius. 
And I dare to say, he thought his defect wondrously exag- 
gerated, when, for the first time, he saw it on canvass • and 
perhaps all his family noticed it there, whom custom had 
reconciled into but little observation of it, and the painter 
was considered no friend of the family. For the poor artist 
is expected to please all down to the youngest child, and 
perhaps that one most, for she often rules the rest. People 
do not too much consider the feelings of painters. I knew 
an artist, a great humourist, who spent much time at the 



124 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

court at Lisbon. He had to paint a child, I believe the 
Prince of the Brazils. I remember, as if I saw him act the 
scene but yesterday, and it is many years ago. Well, the 
maid of honour, or whatever was her title, brought the child 
into the room, and remained some time, but at length left 
Mm alone with the painter. When he found himself only in 
his company, his pride took the alarm. He put on great 
airs, frowned, pouted, looked disdainful, superbly swelling, 
and got off the chair, retreating slowly, scornfully. The 
artist, who was a great mimic, imitated his every gesture, 
and, with like extravagance, frowned as he frowned, swelled 
as he swelled, blew out his breath as the child did, advanced 
as he retreated, till the boy at length found himself pinned 
in the corner, at which the artist put on such a ridiculous 
expression, that risible nature could stand it no longer ; 
pride was conquered by humour, and from that hour they 
were on the most familiar terms. It was not an ill- done 
thing of our Henry VIII. when he made one of his noble 
courtiers apologise to Holbein for some slight, bidding him, 
at the same time, to know that he could make a hundred such 
as he, but it was past his power to make a Holbein. And 
you know how a great monarch picked up Titian's pencil 
which had fallen. How greatly did Alexander honour Apelles, 
in that he would suffer none else to paint his portrait. And 
when the painter, by drawing his Campaspe, fell in love with 
her, he presented her to him. It is a bad policy, Eusebius, to 
put slights upon these men — and it is more, it is ungenerous ; 
they may revenge themselves upon you whenever they please, 
and give you a black eye too, that will never get right again. 
They can, in effigy, put every limb out of joint ; and you 
being no anatomist, may only see that you look ill, and know 
not where you are wrong. All you sitters expect to be 
flattered, and very little flattery do you bestow. Perversely, 
you won't even see your own likenesses. Take, for instance, 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 125 

the following scene, which I had from a miniature-painter : — 
A man upwards of forty years of age had been sitting to 
him — one of as little pretensions as you can well imagine ; 
you would have thought it impossible that he could have had 
an homoeopathic proportion of vanity — of personal vanity at 
least ; but it turned out otherwise. He was described as a 
greasy bilious man, with a peculiarly conventical aspect — 
that is, one that affects a union of gravity and love. " Well, 
sir," said the painter, " that will do — I think I have been 
very fortunate in your likeness." The man looks at it, and 
says nothing, puts on an expression of disappointment. 
" What ! don't you think it like, sir ? " says the artist. " Why 

— ye-ee-s, it is li-i-ke — but " " But what, sir ? — I think 

it exactly like. I wish you would tell me where it is not like?" 
" Why, I'd rather you should find it out yourself. Have the 
goodness to look at me." And here my friend the painter 
declared, that he put on a most detestably affected grin of 
amiability. " Well, sir, upon my word, I don't see any fault 
at all ; it seems to me as like as it can be ; I wish you'd be 
so good as to tell me what you mean." — " Oh, sir, I'd rather 
not — I'd rather you should find it out yourself — look again." 
" I can't see any difference, sir ; so if you don't tell me, it 
can't be altered." — " Well, then, with reluctance, if I must 
tell you, I don't think you have given my sweet expression 
about the eyes" Oh, Eusebius, Eusebius, what a mock you 
would have made of that man ; you would have flouted his 
vanity about his ears for him gloriously ; I would have given 
a crown to have had him sit to you, and you should have let 
me be by, to attend your colours. How we would have be- 
daubed the fellow before he had left the room, with his sweet 
eyes ! But there, your patient painter must endure all that, 
and not give a hint that he disagrees in the opinion ; or if he 
speak his mind on the occasion, he may as well quit the town, 
for under the influence of those sweet eyes, nor man, woman, 



126 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

nor child, will come to sit to him. And consider, Eusebius, 
their misery in having such sitters at all. They are not 
Apollos, and Venuses, nor Adonises, that knock at painters' 
doors. Not one in a hundred has even a tolerably pleasant 
face. I certainly once knew a rough- dealing artist, who told 
a gentleman very plainly — " Sir, I do not paint remarkably 
ugly people." But he came to no good. Not but that a 
clever fellow might do something of this kind with manage- 
ment, with good effect ; get the reputation of being a painter 
of "beauties," with a little skill, make beauties of every- 
body, and stoutly maintain that he never will have any others 
sit to him. I am not quite certain that something of this 
kind has not been practised, or I do not think I should have 
the art to invent it. All those who sit during a courtship, 
to present their portraits as lovers, I look upon it come as 
professed cheats, and mean to be most egregiously nattered ; 
and if the thing succeeds through the painter's skill, within 
six months after the marriage, he, the painter, is called the 
cheat, and the portrait not in the least like. So easy is it to 
get out of repute, by doing your best to please them with a 
little flattery. You will never get into a book of beauty, 
Eusebius. Hitherto, the list runs in the female line. The 
male will soon come in, depend upon it. 

Have a little pity upon the poor artist, who would, but 
cannot, flatter — who is conscious of his inability to put 
in those blandishments that shall give a grace to ugliness — 
from whose hand unmitigated ugliness becomes uglier — who, 
at length, driven from towns, where people begin to see this, 
as a dauber, takes refuge among the farm-houses ; at first 
paints the farmers and their wives, their ugly faces stretching 
to the very edge of the frames, and is at last reduced to paint 
the favourite cow or the fat ox — the prodigal (alas ! no ; the 
simply miserable, in mistaking his profession) feeding the 
swine, and with them, and they not over-proud of his 






SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 127 

doings. Then there is another poor, self-deluded character 
among the tribe. I have the man in my eye at this moment. 
It is not long since I paid him a visit to see a great historical 
composition, which I had been requested to look at. It was 
the most miserable of all miserable daubs ; yet so conspicu- 
ously set off with colours and hardness, that the eye could 
not escape it. It was a most determined eyesore. The quiet, 
the modest demeanour of the young man at first deceived me ; 
I ventured to find some trifling fault. The artist was up — 
still his manner was quiet — somewhat, in truth, contemptu- 
ously so ; but, as for modesty, I doubt not he was modest in 
every other matter relating to himself; but, in art, he as calmly 
talked of himself, Michael Angelo, and Raffaele, as a trio — 
that two had obtained immortality of fame, and that he sought 
the same, and, he trusted, by the same means, and believed 
with similar powers : so coolly did he speak in this manner, 
as if it were a thing long settled in his own mind and in fate 
— and in the manner of an indulgent communication. He 
lamented the lack of taste and knowledge in the world ; that 
so little was real art appreciated, that he was obliged to sub- 
mit to the drudgery of portrait. Submit ! — and such portraits. 
Poor fellow ! how long will he get sitters to submit t I have 
recently heard the fate of one of his great compositions. He 
had persuaded the vicar and churchwardens of a parish to 
accept a picture. He attended the putting it up. It was a 
fine old church. With the quietest conceit, he had a fine east 
window blocked up to receive the picture — had the tables of 
Commandments mutilated, and thrust up in a corner — 
damaged the wall to give effect to the picture — and really 
believed that he was conferring an honour and benefit upon 
the parishioners and the county. Soon, however, men of 
better taste and sense began to cry out. The incumbent died. 
His successor related to me the shocking occurrence of the 
picture. He had it removed, and the damage done to the 



128 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

edifice repaired. And what became of the grand historical ? 
The churchwarden alone, who, in the pride of his heart and 
ignorance, had paid the poor artist for the colours, gladly took 
the picture. His account of it was, that it was so powerful 
in his small room, as to affect several ladies to tears — and 
that he had covered it with a thin gauze, to keep down the 
fierceness of the sentiment ; for it was too affecting. Now, here 
is a man who, if you should happen to sit to him, will think 
it the greatest condescension to take your picture, and will 
paint you such as you never would wish to be seen or known. 
There is a predilection now for portraits, and the world will 
teem with these poor creatures. 

Many there are, however, who, having considerable ability, 
have much to struggle against — who love the profession of 
art, and with that unaccountable giving themselves up to it, 
are quite unfit for any other occupation in life, yet, from ad- 
verse circumstances — ill health, strange temperaments — do 
not succeed. Many years ago, I knew a very interesting 
young man, and a very industrious one, too, of very consider- 
able ability as a painter, but not, at that time, of portraits. 
While hard at work, getting just enough to live by, he was 
seized with an illness that threatened rapid consumption. 
The kind physician who gratuitously visited him, told him 
one day — " You cannot live here. I do not say that you have 
a year of safety in this climate, or a month of safety, but you 
have not weeks. You must instantly go to a warmer climate." 
Ill, and without means, beyond the few pounds he could 
gather from his hasty breaking-up, he had courage to look on 
the cheerful side of things, and went off in the first vessel to 
the West Indies. I saw him afterwards. He gave me 
a history of his adventures. He went from island to island — 
became portrait-painter — a painter of scenes — of anything 
that might offer ; by good conduct, urbanity, gentleness, 
and industry, was respected, liked, and patronised ; lived, 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 129 

and sent home a thousand pounds or two — came to England 
to see his friends for a few months. I saw him on his way 
to them. He was then in health and spirits — told me the 
many events of the few years — and in six weeks the climate 
killed him. But the anecdote of his turning portrait-painter 
is what I have to tell. On the passage, they touched at one of 
the islands, and he found but very little money in his pocket ; 
and, while others went off to hotels, or estates of friends, he 
went his way quietly to seek out cheap lodgings. He found 
such, which the good woman told him he could have in three 
hours. He afterwards learned that she waited that time for 
the then tenant to die in the bed which he was to occupy. 
Walking away to pass the time, he met some of his fellow- 
passengers, who asked him if he had been to see the gover- 
nor. He had not. They told him it was necessary he should 
go. So thither he went. The governor asked him, " What 
b: ought him out to the West Indies ? " He replied, that he 
came as an artist. "An artist I" said the governor. " That 
is a novelty indeed. Have you any specimens ? I should 
like to see them." Now, among his things, he had a minia- 
ture of himself, painted by a man who attained eminence in 
the profession, and whom I knew well. Here, with an ingen- 
uousness characteristic of the man, he acknowledged to me 
how, starvation staring him in the face, he stared in the 
governor's — and the governor being rather a hard-featured 
man, whose likeness, though he had never taken a portrait, 
he thought he could hit — when the governor admired the 
miniature, and asked him, "If it was his ? " he did not 
resist the temptation, and said, " Yes." Upon which the 
governor sat to him. Then others sat to him ; and so he 
left the island, with a replenished purse, and from that time 
became a portrait-painter. If the poor fellow had been the 
veriest dauber, you, Eusebius, would have sat to him twenty 
times over, and have told all the country round quite as great 



130 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

a fib as he did the governor, that he was a very Raffaele in 
outline, and Titian in colouring. And what shall the " re- 
cording angel " do ? Poor fellow ! he had no conceit. 

But you, Eusebius, need not trust or give your counte- 
nance in the way of the art to any man, because you like his 
history or his manners. A thing you are very likely to do 
in spite of this advice, though you multiply portraits for 
" Saracen's Heads." 

Foolish artists themselves, who affect to talk of the great 
style, and set themselves up as geniuses, speak slightingly 
of portrait-painting, as degrading — as pandering to vanity, 
&c. I verily believe, that half this common cant arose from 
jealousy of Sir Joshua Eeynolds. Degradation indeed ! — as 
if Raffaele and Titian, and Vandyke and Reynolds, degraded 
the art, or were degraded by their practice ; and as to pan- 
dering to vanity — view it in another light, and it is feeding- 
affection. 

I knew a painter, who honourably refused to paint a lady's 
picture, when he waited upon her on purpose, sent by some 
injudicious friends to take her portrait in her last days. 
She had been a woman of great celebrity. She received the 
painter ; but with a weakness, pointed first to one side of 
the room where were portraits of earls and bishops, saying, 
11 These are or were all my particular friends " — and then to 
the other side of the room, to a well-filled library — " and 
there are all my works." — " Now," said the painter to me, 
u I did not think it fair to her reputation to take her portrait 
— and she had had many taken at better times." Here was 
one who would not pander to vanity. After all, it is aston- 
ishing how few flattering painters there have been. The 
modern " beauty " manufacturers make beauty to consist of 
silliness or sentimentality. 

Do you believe in the story of the origin of portrait — the 
Grecian maid and her lover ? I cannot — for I have often 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 131 

tried my hand, and such frights were the result, that it 
would have been a cure for love. 

For lack of the art of portrait-painting, we have really no 
idea what mankind were like before the time of our Eighth 
Harry. What we see could not possibly be likenesses, 
because they are not humanity. But in Holbein's heads, 
such as the royal collection, published by Chamberlaine, we 
begin to see what men and women were. What our early 
Henrys and Edwards were — what the court or the people 
were, we cannot know : they are buried in the night of art, 
like the brave who lived before the time of Agamemnon. 
Perhaps it is quite as well — u omne ignotum pro mirifico " — 
and who would lose the pleasure of wonder and conjecture, 
with all its imaginary phantasmagoria ? We might have a 
mesmeric coma that might put us in possession of the past, 
if it can of the future — and gratify curiosity woefully at the 
expense of what is more valuable than that kind of truth. 
A mesmeric painter may take the portrait of Helen of Troy, 
and you may knock at your twenty neighbours' doors, and 
find perhaps a greater beauty, especially if chronology be 
trusted as to her age at the Trojan war. Would you like to 
see a veritable portrait of Angelica — or of Orlando in his 
madness ? 

The great portrait-painter, the sun, in his diurnal course 
all over the world, may be, for aught we know, photograph- 
ing mankind, and registering us too ; and if we are to judge 
from the specimens we do see, the collection cannot be very 
flattering.* Who dares call the sun a flatterer ? 

" Solem quis dicere falsum 

Audeat ? " 

At the very moment that you are sitting to your man, to be 
set off with smirk and smile and the graces of art, you are 

* This was written in 1844. 



132 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

perhaps making a most formidable impression elsewhere. 
You would not like to 

" Look upon this picture, and on this." 

Some poor country people have an unaccountable dislike 
to having their portraits taken. Savages think them second 
selves, and that may be bewitched and punished : possibly 
something of this feeling may be at the bottom of the dis- 
like. I was once sketching in a country village, and an old 
woman went by, and I put her into the picture. Some, 
looking over me, called to her that her likeness was 
taken. She cried, because she had not her best cap and 
gown on. I was once positively driven from a cottage door, 
because a woman thought I was " taking her off." I know 
not but that it was a commendable wish in her to appear 
decent before the world, and so might have been the fine 

lady's wish — 

" Betty, put on a little red, 
One surely need not look a fright when dead." 

We choose to be satirical, and call it vanity ; but put both 
anecdotes into tolerably good grave Latin, and name them 
Portia and Lucretia, and we should have as fine a sentiment 
as the boasted one of the hero endeavouring to fall decently. 
There may be but little difference, and that only just what 
we, in our humours, choose to make it. I am sure you, 
Eusebius, will stand up for the old village crone, and the 
fine lady, too. But the fraternity of the brush, if they do 
now and then promote vanity, much more commonly gratify 
affection. Private portraits seem to me to be things so 
sacred, that they ought not to survive the immediate family 
or friends for whose gratification they are painted. I much 
like the idea of burying them at last. I will show you how 
estimable these things sometimes are. You remember a 
portrait I have — a gentleman in a dress of blue and gold — 
in crayon. Did I ever tell you the anecdote respecting 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 133 

him ? If not, you shall have it, as I had it from my father. 
If you recollect the picture, you must recollect that it is of a 
very handsome man. His horses took fright, the carriage 
was overturned, and he was killed upon the spot. The 
property came to my father. One day an unknown lady, in 
a handsome equipage, stopped at his door, and, in an inter- 
view with him, requested a portrait of this very person, not 
the one you have seen, but another in oil-colour, and of that 
the head only. My father cut it out, and gave it to her. 
Many, many years afterwards it was returned to him by an 
unknown hand, with an account of the accident that caused 
the death, pasted on the back ; and it is now in my pos- 
session. The lady was never known. No, Eusebius, we 
must not deny portrait-painters, nor portrait-painting. It is 
the line in which we excel — and that we have above all 
others patronised, and great men too have arisen from our 
encouragement. Who are so rich in Vandykes as we are ? 
And some we have had better than the world allows them to 
be. Sir Peter Lely was occasionally an admirable painter — 
though Sir Joshua did say, " we must go beyond him now." 
There was Sir Joshua himself, and Gainsborough — would 
that either were alive to take you, Eusebius, though I were 
to pay for the sitting. I think, too, that I should have given 
the preference to Gainsborough — it would have been so 
true. Did you ever see his portrait of Foote ? — so unaffected 
— it must be like. I won't be invidious by naming any, 
where we have so many able portrait-painters ; but if you 
have not fixed upon your man, come to me, and I will tell 
half-a-dozen, and we will go to them, and you shall judge 
for yourself — and if you like miniature, there are those who 
will make what is small great. What wonderful power 
Cooper had in this way. I recently had in my hands a 
wondrous and marvellous portrait of Andrew Marvell by 
him. The sturdy honest Andrew. This man Cooper had 



134 SITTING FOE A PORTRAIT. 

such wonderful largeness of style, of execution too, even in 
his highest-finished small oil-pictures — such as in this of 
Andrew Marvell. We had an age, certainly, of very bad 
taste, and it was not extinct in the days of Sir Joshua and 
Gainsborough ; nay, sometimes under both of these, I am 
sorry to say, it was even made worse. The age of shepherds 
and shepherdesses — in the case of Gainsborough, brought 
down to downright rustics. This, of making the sitters 
affect to be what they were not, was bad enough — and it 
was anything but poetical. But it was infinitely worse in 
the itinerants of the day — and is very well ridiculed by 
Goldsmith, who lived much among painters, in his Vicar 
of Wakefield and family sitting for the family picture. We 
have happily quite got out of that folly. But we are getting 
into one of most unpoetical pageantry — portrait likenesses. 
We have not seen yet a good portrait of Wellington, and the 
Queen, or the Prince ; and if they must send their portraits 
to foreign courts, let them be advised to learn, if they know 
not yet how, and we are told they do, to paint them them- 
selves. Montaigne tells us, that he was present one day at 
Bar-le-Duc, when King Francis the Second, for a memorial of 
Rene, King of Sicily, was presented with a picture the king 
had drawn of himself. Somehow or other, kings and queens 
are apt to have too many trappings about them ; and the 
man is often chosen to paint, who paints velvets and satins 
best, and faces the worst. That is the reason we have them 
so ill done ; and even if the faces are well painted, they are 
overpowered by the ostentation of the dress. The Venetian 
portrait-painters contrived to keep down the glare of all this 
ornament, to make it even more rich, but not obtruding. I 
remember seeing a portrait of our queen, where, in a large 
bonnet, her face looked like a small pip in the midst of an 
orange. It would be a good thing, if you could contrive to 
spend a week or so in company with your painter before you 



SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 135 

sit, that he may know you. Many a characteristic may he 
lose, for want of knowing that it is a characteristic ; and 
may give yon that in expression which does not belong to 
you, while he may miss " your sweet expression about your 
eyes." He may purse up your large and generous mouth, 
because you may screw it for a moment to keep some ill- 
timed conceit from bolting out, and, besides missing that 
noble feature, may give you an expression of a caution that 
is not yours. A painter the other day, as I am assured, in a 
country town, made a great mistake in a characteristic, and 
it was discovered by a country farmer. It was the portrait 
of a lawyer — an attorney, who, from humble pretensions, 
had made a good deal of money, and enlarged thereby his 
pretensions, but somehow or other had not very much 
enlarged his respectability. To his pretensions was added 
that of having his portrait put up in the parlour, as large as 
life. There it is, very flashy and very true — one hand in his 
breast, the other in his small- clothes' pocket. It is market- 
day — the country clients are called in — opinions are passed 
— the family present, and all complimentary — such as, " Never 
saw such a likeness in the course of all my born days. As 
like 'un as he can stare." " Well, sure enough, there he is." 
But at last— there is one dissentient ! " 'Tain't like — not 
very — no, 'taint," said a heavy middle-aged farmer, with 
rather a dry-look, too, about his mouth, and a moist one at 
the corner of his eye, and who knew the attorney well. All 
were upon him. " Not like ! — how not like ? Say where is 
it not like?" — "Why, don't you see," said the man, "he's 
got his hand in his breeches' pocket. It would be as 
like again if he had his hand in any other body's pocket." 
The family portrait was removed, especially as, after this, 
many came on purpose to see it ; and so the attorney was 
lowered a peg, and the farmer obtained the reputation of a 
connoisseur. 



136 SITTING FOR A PORTRAIT. 

But it is high time, Eusebius, that I should dismiss you 
and portrait-painting, or you will think your thus sitting to 
me , worse than sitting for your picture ; which picture, if 
it be of my Eusebius as I know him and love him, will ever 
be a living speaking likeness; but if it be one but of outward 
feature and resemblance, it will soon pass off to make up the 
accumulation of dead lumber— while do you, Eusebius, as 
you are, vive valeque. 






AEE THEEE NOT GREAT BOASTEKS AMONG US? 

[OCTOBER 185^,] 

It is trite enough to say " How little do we know our- 
selves ;" and because trite, the chances are, it is quite true. 
We are continually raising a laugh against the Americans, 
because they are given to swagger a little too much, whilst 
we industriously forget from what quarter their inheritance 
comes. If an individual may be allowed to make a national 
confession with as much indulgence as every individual is 
allowed to make his national boasting, let me be treated 
leniently if I venture — thus. There is not a more absurdly 
boastful people on the face of the earth than we, the " Great 
English Nation." We boast of everything belonging to us. 
If there be a difference between us and our Transatlantic 
brethren, it is in this, that as their boasting takes its char- 
acter from democratic institutions, our boasting is character- 
ised by a dash of aristocratic delicacy. Theirs is more 
vulgar, that is all ; but, nevertheless, as we are daily pro- 
gressing towards them in politics, so are we in this respect, 
that our national swaggering is decidedly improving in 
vulgarity. That regards the manner of our boasting. The 
matter of it is to be found everywhere and in everything. 
We boast of everything belonging to us, and of some few 
things that do not belong to us ; for swaggering Pride is twin- 
brother to Falsehood. We boast of a prosperity from which 



138 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 

millions are running away; of a representative system, 
which represents not much of the sense, but a very large 
proportion of the nonsense of the people ; of a public morality, 
at which every man individually laughs in his sleeve — to 
which so many elections are giving the lie, by a total dis- 
regard to the morals of their parliamentary candidates. 

We make a very great fuss, and ever have done so, about 
our " Trial by Jury." A capital thing, indeed, in that 
theory which supposes the bulk of mankind quite honest, 
and quite competent. But as public honesty lessens, and 
political heats class men into parties, trial by jury may not 
be the best security to life or property. " Trial by jury," 
by all means, says the culprit, knowing there is at least one 
pig-headed brute in the jury-box, and perhaps more than 
one great rogue — that villany is so hedged with the chican- 
ery of law, and the not only permitted, but honoured and 
fostered malignant subtlety of lawyers, that there is a very fair 
chance of Honesty being put out of countenance, and Crime 
walking off unblu shingly, even with a triumphant effrontery. 
Ireland, Ireland! What is "trial by jury" there. A 
pretty boast indeed, that might, as it swells in the throat, 
choke the bragging mightiness of England. Bad is it, in- 
deed, for a people, when the solemnity of law becomes a 
mockery — when the parade of courts, the ermine of judges, 
and all the paraphernalia of justice, are only brought before 
a people to represent a farce. Law, as it is in its results in 
Ireland, exhibits the mighty doings for little ends which 
will make the present age ridiculous to posterity. Even in 
more sober England, is not the virtue of trial by jury deteri- 
orating, simply because morals are deteriorating, knavery 
more taken under protection, and our great Parliamentary 
character, which should be the mirror whereby all institu- 
tions should dress themselves, a sullied example? We are 
always averring that "Truth will prevail" — magna est 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 139 

Veritas et prcevalebit ; and we never say this so impressively 
as when we desire some falsehood to prevail. And Truth does 
not prevail. On the contrary, all our great public acts of this 
our new era, of which we boast so much, have been obtained 
confessedly by " enormous lying;" and so much is lying in 
favour that it is an additional boast — it is the ornamental 
fringe to the national habit, to the cloak of national iniquity. 

Very bad principles walk about our streets and all public 
ways in masks, wearing on their brazen fronts large phylac- 
teries of truth and honesty. To proceed is to give rise to a 
very serious thought, more fit for the sermon of a divine than 
my pen — that the " Prince of this world," who is the "father 
of lies," has a very large and truly governing influence in 
our affairs. It might be continued in this strain : as lying 
was the first instrument of temptation — "thou shaft not 
surely die " — and became the very principle in our corruption, 
so it bears still its fruit, it begets its many children — and 
whatever be the iniquity, multitudes go about in our high- 
ways and byways to proclaim, " thou shalt not surely die " 
for it. If we had not too strongly active this principle 
within us, we should not have our diversity of opinions, 
which are, and which are furthered by, the moral confusion of 
our Babel tongues. The heathen mythology gave their Cer- 
berus his three mouths, representing, it may be presumed, 
the three great temptations which devour mankind — " the 
world, the flesh, and the Devil." Every man still makes up 
his sop of one virtue, though he does not always throw it 
into the right mouth, nor know how surely and quickly the 
other two may turn upon him. 

Now, with regard to all this our national boasting, we see 
pride walking before, and know who cometh after. Pride 
goes before a fall. We were never so proud ; and perhaps 
this marks our progressing, and is the finger-post to our 
steps. " Facilis descensus." There are who think all will 



140 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

be well, either from a habit of indolent thought, or vacuity 
of thought ; and they thus admit deception into their own 
minds, and send it forth into others. This false hope stays 
honest doing. It is well characterised by the great historian 
Thucydicles, wherein he treats of the argument of Hope 
which encouraged the Melians. " You trust in Hope, and 
know not her character ; Hope is never discovered until she 
hath irreparably deceived." This is the idea, perhaps not 
the words. When the day comes that people lift up their 
hands and say, " Who would have thought it ! " they then, 
too late, discover the world's false hope to be the elder 
daughter of the Father of lies. 

" Quorsum heec ? " Why set up as universal censor ? 
Simply because the matter touches to the quick of the 
individual man ; because I feel myself somewhat progressing 
towards the condition of the nervous gentleman who finds 
too many annoyances come home to himself. If a man had 
but a single string of sensitiveness upon which only a Paga- 
nini might play, and he might be at liberty to reserve all 
the rest for himself, things might be endured ; but when all 
his strings are stretched upon himself, the unfortunate in- 
strument, and many cheats are playing upon all, it must be 
expected that he will be a little out of tune, and take the 
relief of complaining. The sensitive man was never in a 
worse predicament. He knows not what to wear, nor what 
to eat. So that these grave reflections — and grave they are 
— properly considered, have arisen from reading the last 
exposure of cheatery, in extracts taken from the Lancet. 

"Adulterated Cayenne Pepper. — The Lancet gives the fol- 
lowing results of an analysis of twenty-eight samples of Cayenne 
pspper obtained at different shops : ' That out of the twenty- 
eight samples of Cayenne pepper subjected to analysis, twenty- 
four were adulterated ; that out of the above number four only 
were genuine ; that out of the twenty-four adulterated samples, 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 141 

twenty-two contained mineral colouring matter ; that red lead, 
often in large and poisonous quantities, was present in thirteen 
samples ; that Venetian red, red ochre, brick-dust, or some other 
analogous ferruginous earths, were contained in seven samples ; 
that cinnabar, vermilion, or sulphuret of mercury, was detected 
in one sample ; that six of the samples consisted of a mixture of 
ground rice, turmeric, and Cayenne, coloured with either red 
lead, or a red ferruginous earth ; that six samples contained large 
quantities of salt, sometimes alone, but more frequently combined 
with rice and a red ferruginous earth, or with red lead ; that one 
of the samples was adulterated with a large quantity of the husk of 
white mustard-seed ; that two contained rice only, coloured with 
red lead or a ferruginous earth. As is well known, red lead and 
vermilion, or sulphuret of mercury, are highly deleterious sub- 
stances, both being characterised by the very peculiar circumstance 
that they are not, like the majority of other compounds, when 
received into the system, at once eliminated therefrom, but remain 
in the body for a considerable time, gradually accumulating, until 
at length they occasion the peculiar symptoms which distinguish 
their presence in large amount. Thus, however small the dose 
taken from day to day, the constitution is yet liable, by the repe- 
tition of the dose, to be at length brought under the influence of 
the poison, and to become seriously affected. But the quantity of 
red lead and mercury introduced into the system in adulterated 
Cayenne pepper is by no means inconsiderable, since it commonly 
forms a large portion of the article. Some idea of the amount of 
these substances frequently present may be formed from the fact 
that, in a pinch of cayenne moistened and diffused over a white 
plate, or a piece of glass, they may be distinctly seen by the eye 
alone. What punishment, we would now inquire, ought to be 
inflicted on the parties guilty of the crime of mixing these dele- 
terious substances with articles of diet 1 The case made out, we 
submit, is one which, for the sake of the public health, strongly 
demands the interposition of the Legislature. The man who 
steals one's purse commits a less crime than he who, by tricking 
our food, robs us of health. In a recent leading article we pointed 
out the fact that the law, in its present state, actually offers a 
remedy, which, if carried into effect, would to some extent meet 
the present case. Parties guilty of vending adulterated articles 
of food may be proceeded against for the recovery of the amount 
paid for them. We trust that some spirited individuals, having 
the welfare of the public at heart, will ere long proceed to enforce 
that remedy.' " 



142 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 

Surely this is frightful enough, and likely to make nervous 
gentlemen of us all ; but when we remember that this is but 
one exposure out of many, coming from the same quarter, we 
all may well say, there is no knowing what to eat or to chink. 
They say, and say sometimes falsely, that knowledge is 
power. It would be well if it were a power to help our- 
selves. If such be its discoveries, either the world's common 
traders were once more honest, or " ignorance " was really 
lt bliss," and "'tis folly to be wise." Being, however, made 
wise, do let us try to be a little wiser, and put a stop to 
universal and outrageous cheatery. 

It is impossible to avoid a general suspicion of everybody 
and everything. I do verily believe that Prince Humbug 
reigns — that there is no good thing advocated but for 
the value of the evil it brings with it, and for the selfish 
ends it promotes. Thus, the universal demand for education 
on the part of the public press — what is it for ? but that, the 
more readers, the more buyers of newspapers. The cry is 
taken up for the facility of making dupes in every direction. 
Educate, educate, say the diurnal, the hebdomadal press, 
that every man, woman, and child may read (their Bible is 
the pretence — the meaning is) our newspapers. It is they 
who send knowledge-mongers a-mountebanking about the 
country, and setting up their lecture-rooms, where the pupils 
are taught the fantastic tricks of tumblers ; for the head is 
where the heels should be, and the heels uppermost, kicking 
at the heavens, in which position the heart is out of its place, 
too near the ground, and loses its upward aspiration. Useful 
knowledge, says the modern schoolmaster, is earth-know- 
ledge. Instinct gave the heathen a better notion of this 
matter — 

" Os homini sublime dedit, coelumque tueri 
Jussit, et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus." 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 143 

I have heard the new- wisdom folk say, that all books should 
be re-written — that children should be emancipated from the 
ferule of King Solomon, for that he was a bigot and a fool, 
who knew nothing. 

Verily, the " prince of this world " has agents everywhere 
— consequently the press teems with advertisements of 
" Genuine Articles." Did you, honest reader, ever read one 
advertisement that told you of any deterioration whatever ? 
With whom, nowadays, would you like to play odd and even 
in the dark ? Would you take any man's brick out of his 
hand as a sample of his house, and take his title-deeds with- 
out a scrutiny ? When next we taunt our Transatlantic friends 
with their " smart men," they may fairly retort upon us, that 
we pay " smart-money " at home for every article we buy. 
Often as I have been tempted to take up this subject — our 
boast of superior honesty — I have abstained, hardly knowing 
where to begin, and doubting how it would be borne by a 
people of traders in all ways, or of willing dupes, who admit 
the maxim, and, for its advantages, bear the disadvantages — 
" Qui vult decipi, decipiatur ; " but at length this stinging 
gnat of Cayenne pepper has made up the intolerable burthen, 
and broken the back of my irresolution. And though I would 
fain wait for a cooler moment for this peppery argument, I do 
not know when to expect it. For, writing now in the midst 
of elections, though the weather is hot, the political heats are 
hotter, and give very little promise of abatement — threaten- 
ing greater heats. But as people do now, some time of the 
day, seek the shade, and love to be cool, I venture upon this 
sedative of our heats. The few truths in these observations 
may at least tend to keep down the thermometer of our own 
overweening pride. They who are in the habit of taking 
large quantities of Cayenne are likely, contrary to their expec- 
tation, to be quiet enough ; for the accumulation of the poison 



144 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

may slowly, but surely, give them their quietus, however hot 
and ardent their human passions now, while they are heaping 
lead upon lead in their own stomachs, enough for every man 
to supply his own coffin withal. A little pepper- dust, duly 
administered, may settle all other heats and animosities. 

" Hi rootus animorum, atque hsec certamina tanta 
Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescent." 

Which, truly translated, may stand for the following adver- 
tisement : — 

" Adulterate pepper, warranted to settle 

The proudest stomachs and most fiery mettle." 

I perceive that, in many large places, certain Milk Com- 
panies are set up, professing to sell the real genuine unadul- 
terated milk. It might appear strange that one milk company 
in a town or city should issue such an advertisement, and that 
none of the old milk-people venture either to take offence at 
the implied charge of adulteration, or venture upon counter- 
advertisements. Not very long ago, there was a quarrel 
between two milk-sellers, and one confessed at one of the 
police-offices what he said it was no use to deny, that they 
drew largely upon the " black cow " — in their trade language, 
the pump. Two gentlemen in their walk suddenly came upon 
a milk-boy with his cans. As he looked young, they thought 
they might catch him. One of them, therefore, said hastily 
to him, " I know you put hot water in the milk, it is so 
different." The boy vindicated himself at once : " No, indeed, 
sir ; we always puts it cold." Let me recommend to milk- 
men, that they should go voluntarily before the magistrate of 
the township, and make affidavit that they have not, do not, 
and will not, by themselves, or persons employed by them, 
in any way dilute or adulterate the article ; and there is very 
little doubt they will get the best custom, most profitable 






ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 145 

patronage, besides that which used to be reckoned money's 
worth — the preserving a milk-white conscience. 

If a man forges a bill, he is transported : is he that forges 
an article of consumption less guilty ? If a poor rogue — I 
only pity him by comparison — obtains a little money under 
false pretences, he is sent to the treadmill for cheating an 
individual. What ought to be done to the general cheaters, 
the large, the wholesale impostors, who obtain the greatest 
sums under false pretences, by cheating everybody ? There 
is a legal punishment for short weights : have the authorities 
yet considered what short weight really is ? If a grocer sells 
a pound of coffee as coffee, and it is only half a pound of 
coffee and the other half chicory, ought not the law against 
short weight to be extended to such a case ? It is time the 
legislature should look a little into this matter of dishonesty. 
It would be far better that every tradesman should be obliged 
to take out a license, and make his affidavit that he will not 
adulterate any goods, than that people should so largely 
and so widely be defrauded ; and there are none who suffer 
so severely by this free trade in cheatery as the poor, buying, 
as they do, upon little credit, both false weight and deterior- 
ated and adulterated goods. If it be said, this would be an 
infringement upon the liberty of the subject, I answer, so 
much the better ; I would have every liberty to cheat sup- 
pressed, and for the general protection, as well as for the sake 
of amelioration in honesty, I would make the conviction of 
these frauds a misdemeanour. Perhaps, even by Maga, I 
may be thought outrageously out of the humanities of the 
present era; but I will out with it. I do think it a great 
pity that we have abolished the stocks, and other per- 
sonal punishments ; nor do I believe these abolitions to be 
at all good for the very persons who, in former days, would 
have been subject to them. I really am inclined to think 
that a fat grocer, who, as the farce says, sands the sugar, 



146 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

waters the tobacco, or sells chicory for coffee, and then bids 
his prentices who "do his work, come to prayers, would be 
very justly punished by a bastinado on the soles of his feet. 
I do not see what right common cheaters have with liberty 
at all, till they know how to use it. The moment it is made 
to answer the purpose of knavery, it ought to be put down ; 
and, until put down, we live under the tyranny of the worst 
kind of protection. Is it not nowadays oftentimes rewarded ? 
So tender is our law in its administration to culprits, it is ever 
upon the stretch of invention to find for them loopholes of 
escape. A man, the other day, was sued by the Excise for 
selling cigars upon which no duty had been paid. He escaped 
by his sheer dishonesty. He proved that, though he sold 
them as real Havannah, they had not an atom of tobacco in 
thern ! 

Good Mr Bull, that you are cheated in many ways, you too 
well know ; but you do not know at all the extent of the 
frauds practised upon you. I will say nothing just now about 
how you have been gulled by your own peculiar servants, nor 
of the canisters (supposed to be meat) which you have been 
compelled to sink in the salt sea, without hope of making 
them salt provisions ; but I will remind you that the coat you 
wear is devil's-dust — your silk handkerchief is more than 
half cotton — your cotton shirt is thickened with flour, to make 
it appear (that is, before you have bought it, and had it 
washed) substantial and strong. The Cayenne pepper you 
dose yourself with, for the good of your health, is red lead 
and mercury. The milk you fancy you take — it is to be 
hoped in no large quantities — though Homer says of milk- 
consumers that they are the longest lived, and most just of 
men, and your getting so little of the genuine may have some- 
thing to do with a few things not quite on the side of honesty 
in your doings — well, I assert this imaginary milk is a manu- 
facture altogether which slanders the cow, made up of horses' 



; 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 147 

brains, collected from knackers, or at best chalk and lime- 
water. You have been labouring under bronchitis ; your 
physician has ordered you a mustard plaster — it was a 
caput mortuum on your chest — it would not rise. Shop after 
shop did you send to : they had all of them, they insisted 
upon it, the genuine article ; yet it did not rise. The Durham 
mustard, like a certain Durham letter, was a mere sham ; you 
found it all turmeric, with something more deleterious. You 
were obliged to give up your tea, it was so scarce to be had ; 
you took to coffee, as you thought, but you consumed chicory. 
If you do not look a little into these things, it will be the 
worse for you. You know you begin to feel your constitution 
giving way — to be in quite a ticklish condition. You may 
fall sick — your medicine will be a poison. Ten to one but 
you may die for lack of the remedy, or for taking it ; and 
should it so happen that you die, it is very true you will not 
have to make a wry face at your undertaker's bill. You. will 
lie quietly under the items, but you will not lie so long ; 
for the copper nails in your coffin will be nothing but tin 
lacquered with a copper solution, to facilitate your dissolution. 
And here, good Mr Bull, I cannot forbear to tell you an 
anecdote which I heard myself from a conscientious under- 
taker, and which I verily believe to be true in every particular. 
A very few years ago there was a kind of hand-in-hand affair 
of trade between two undertakers of two towns not very dis- 
tant from each other. All the previous preparations had been 
made — the final closing moment was come — when a principal 
entered the room, turned all out excepting his confidentials, 
and had all the costlier accoutrements of the dead stripped off; 
and then putting a shilling into the hand of one accidentally 
present, discovered that it was not his own man ; and thus 
the story became known. Adieu, Mr Bull ! I scarcely wish 
to survive you for the honour of writing your epitaph. Let 
others inscribe on your gravestone — 



148 ARE THEEE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

" Semivii-umque bovem, semi bovemque virum." 
It is very much to be doubted if they will give you quite so 
good a character as I from my heart would wish to do at 
this present time. 

I have, in truth, very little hope for you. You are de- 
luded. You know not your own condition. You have made 
up your mind to be deluded — to delude yourself. You will 
live in crystal palaces, and believe them solid as marble. 
You will swell yourself up with windy ideas, and imagine 
you are growing strong and lusty, because the veriest quacks 
tell you so. Go on ; prosper, if you can ; at any rate, make 
a world of business about your prosperity, and you will find 
your hands full of nothing, and I fear no little of your 
honesty will have slipped through your fingers. You are 
full of business and glorification ; and while I see you thus 
engaged, in the general perturbation I must, like Diogenes, 
be allowed to roll about my tub, and make the noise of discon- 
tent, that I may at least seem to be doing something ; for there 
is danger in being a drone. " The People" anathematise 
them, and many think they ought all to be put to death. 
My Mend Bull, you are in the fever of business, in the 
ecstasy of your imagined superiority. You live as in a fair, 
and shift places as actor and spectator as the humour takes 
you. You throw about your sugar plums as if they cost 
you nothing, and think a general hurrahing ample payment. 
I would only just remind you of one thing, that there is 
Madness in the Bevels, but Eeason comes a day after the 
Fair. 

The English merchant and English tradesman were once 
great names. They write them so n wy, when there is any- 
thing to be obtained by the reputation. Every wall is posted 
with advertisements, solely that the sham should draw off 
attention from facts. We are so accustomed to hear a mere 
boast given out as truth, that, if we do not actually take the 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 149 

imposture for the reality, we dismiss Virtue with a laugh ; we 
never give her a warm support, " laudatur et alget." We have 
caught the trick from our immediate neighbours, and shrug 
the shoulder — admit, if not pay duty to the supremacy of 
humbug. All this while we think, or at least say, of our- 
selves, that we are the very best Christians in the world, 
too many of us doing not " as we would" be, but as we are 
" done by." We compass heaven and earth to make prose- 
lytes, not only to our religion, but to our morals and opinions, 
although, strange inconsistency, we have not entirely settled 
any of them ; nor are we able to give a very coherent 
account of ourselves in any one of these particulars. But 
let me not be foolhardy enough to take upon me to count 
the number of the sands. Yet I will say, that if our mis- 
sionaries think it their business to inculcate the maxims of 
British morals — if they be worth exporting, they must be 
taken from some unknown depository. I will not subscribe 
my guinea till I am better informed. Hitherto, the fact has 
been forced upon thinking people, that both our moral and 
religious exports have been of a very dubious character. 

A gentleman, with whom I am very intimate, told me the 
other day, on his return from the Mediterranean, that being 
desirous to purchase a shawl and a carpet, he requested a 
lady to accompany him to the bazaars, who was well ac- 
quainted with the national characters of the traders in the 
place. First they went to the shawl-merchant. He was a 
Persian. He asked his price : the lady offered one-third. 
Oh, it was impossible. The lady very coolly reiterated — 
" one-third." A very small advance was made, and the 
shawl was bought. They then went to purchase the 
carpet — the merchant a Turk. He also gave his price. 
Without a moment's hesitation the lady assented. The 
price asked was paid, and the carpet purchased. It was 
one of those which had been so much admired in our Great 



150 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 

Exhibition. My friend questioned his companion upon her 
extraordinarily different treatment of the two traders. Her 
reply was to this effect — the Persians never tell truth, the 
Turks never tell lies. The Turk puts his price conscien- 
tiously, and never abates ; the other never obtains the price 
he asks but from dupes. "Look on this picture, and 
on this." I am sorry to publish in Maga that it is my 
belief, that it would be very advantageous to us, if, upon 
the principle of Free Trade, every nation should send to 
another what is most wanted, and what it can best spare ; 
that it would be a very advantageous barter, if, while we are 
sending out to the Turks so many religious missionaries, 
they would be pleased to send us a few moral missionaries. 
We might, indeed, then somewhat differ from the Medes 
and Persians in this, that if our practices rather resemble 
theirs than those of the Turks, they will not be after the 
character of their laws, which alter not. 

There were two faggot- sellers : they met over a pint. 
"I can't think," says one, " for the life of me, how it is you 
sells them at that figure, and gets anything by 'em, for I 
can't ; and yet I steals the wood." " Ay," replied the other, 
" but I steals the faggots." It is really to be feared that, in 
some low trades, honesty would be sure to go to the wall. 
I actually know an industrious woman who set up a little 
shop, and was obliged to give it up, because it went against 
her conscience to cheat. The other day I read some statis- 
tical accounts of the metropolis, wherein it appeared that 
there are in London two hundred and forty thousand profes- 
sional rogues, thieves, and id genus omne, besides, of course, 
the unprofessional, whom common roguery does not admit 
of the fraternity. This statement is enough to frighten 
country folk, and deter them from setting foot within reach 
of such a nest of hornets. Many a one upon his first 
entrance in the great world, the Wen, is immediately tossed 






ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 1,51 

into a bed of fleas, or ten times worse, and finds liis purse 
missing in the morning, or very soon after. And here, a 
little to digress, let it be observed, that there is a field open 
to the sanitary commission that they will do well to enter 
upon, much more important than sewers. They say there 
are vermin enough in some London lodging-houses, that, if 
one farthing should be given for every individual of the dis- 
gusting species, the amount would exceed the National 
Debt. It will be said this is no iniquity — only a misfortune. 
Perhaps so — it is only given as a digression ; and yet the 
proprietors make very solemn assertions that there is no 
such thing within their dwellings ; and some protest, as a 
grievance, that the gentleman must have brought them all 
himself, though his portmanteau and carpet-bags would not 
hold them. He might show the impossibility by weight and 
measure, as the maid did, who, when charged by her mis- 
tress with letting the cat eat a pound of butter, put the cat 
in the scales, and proved she only weighed three-quarters of 
a pound. Brazen-faced impudence can put on any incre- 
dulity. 

" For goodness' sake, make haste," cried out a gentleman 
on the stairs of a hotel, after having collected the house by 
calling out murder — " for goodness' sake, make haste, or the 
bugs will throw me over the bannisters." 

I said that we are at a loss what to eat, what to drink, 
and what to put on. And yet this is not all. Trades have 
accepted the motto, " Seem, and not be." Grieved am I to 
say it — literature and the arts do not escape. Both are 
given to purloining, to puffing, to self-reviewing, to cutting, 
to slashing, to living upon other men's thoughts ; and, by 
pouring, as it were, out of one phial into another, with a 
little adulteration, pass off the compound as original. The 

I arts may be called " Fine," because peculiarly liable to such 
line dilutions. The secrets of picture making are only learnt 



152 AKE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

by experience. It costs nmch to have a taste, and pursue 
it -j yet, to be anything in this all-knowing world, taste you 
must have. Mr Somebody, the great dealer, has an un- 
doubted original. He overshoots his mark — it does not sell. 
He puts it in a case, directs it " To His Majesty the King of 

; " perhaps it is forwarded and returned. Be that as 

it may, still it is in its case — the case in a conspicuous 
passage, the directions very large and plain, " To His 
Majesty," &c. The great connoisseur, and perhaps public 
caterer, is invited to see other pictures — sees the case. 
" What have you here ? " " Oh— the so-and-so." " What ! 
you are not going to send it out of the country? Well, 
keep it awhile — we will try to have it." He departs. It is 
more than probable the picture — perhaps, too, a very good 
one — may soon find its way into the National Gallery, or 
some great collection. The fraud is the thing. 

The whole nation, with and without taste, feted and 
applauded Marshal Soult as if he had possessed the genius 
to paint his Murillos, or at least had come by them honestly. 
I do not remember any stir being made about the unprin- 
cipled way in which they were obtained, though the facts 
were acknowledged. The truth is, we are less sensitive 
than our forefathers as to the touch of honesty and dishonesty. 
I cannot but admire the ingenuity with which one connoisseur 
worked off disgust at the transaction, and turned it into a 
gratification. " I always," said he, " look at those pictures 
with extraordinary pleasure, because they saved some lives." 
" Saved some lives ? " said a friend to this philanthropist. 
" Yes ; it was known they were concealed — the monks had 
ropes about their necks — were on the point of being hanged — 
the pictures were discovered, and the lives saved." Now, 
are any ignorant how these pictures came into the Marshal's 
hands ? and for what large sums they got out of his hands ? 
I am sorry to say that public approbation,'" or lack of dis- 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 153 

approbation, seems to justify and "marshal the way" that 
all the trade " should go." The public was treated, some 
time ago, with a confession of a painter of some note, who, 
rinding himself run down by his brethren, wrote his defence, 
by exposing a general practice, and told of the many works 
at small price by his hand, which were warranted to pass as 
the works of the hands commissioned. 

But as I believe the body of our respectable artists are 
free from traffic of this or any other unworthy kind, though 
often tempted, I will lay no great stress on such confession. 
But I will tell you, honest Maga, what an artist told me the 
other day, and he gave me permission to tell it. He had a 
very near relative, a painter of great note and deserved fame, 
who died. His works became exceedingly valuable, as 
testified by public sales. Well — my friend, the narrator, 
was the executor ; and soon after the increased value of the 
works was ascertained, six dealers from different towns called 
upon him, each separately with his proposal — namely, to 
have the pictures by the deceased artist copied, and offering 
large remuneration if he would authenticate them as originals. 
Besides this, he told me two pictures had been referred to 
him for authentication, as sold by dealers, with the name of 
the deceased in the corner, which he, the narrator, had him- 
self, and not long before, painted. The Christian name had 
been altered. Thus it appears that fraud is practised upon 
all our senses — all our wants ; not only on what we eat, 
drink, and wear, but on what we see, and as to what we 
hear. The " father of lies " has busy-tongued agents every- 
where; and so indifferent are people about fraud and dis- 
honesty that they even boast of malpractices. A friend told 
me that he travelled in a railway carriage with two men, 
who told openly of their electioneering tricks, that they were 
agents in the Liberal interest, how they had manufactured 
votes, kept off adverse voters, got up mobs, and that they 



154 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

were then on their way to a large city ; and without disguise 
entered into detail of the iniquities to be by them performed. 

No one will be astonished that such trickeries are resorted 
to. It is the open acknowledgment of them which I con- 
sider an index of the moral barometer. There is a positive 
growing itch for roguery. What a to-do there is made about 
culprits ! how often are they considered and patronised as 
heroes ! This passion for vice was recently rendered de- 
monstrable to a most extraordinary degree — every one re- 
membering the disgusting tale of the black beggar and the 
abandoned young woman who lived with him. And yet, so 
attractive is vice over virtue, that very numerous applica- 
tions were made to the Lord Mayor, as his lordship publicly 
asserted, with proposals to marry her ; and these were made 
not by the lowest, but by tradesmen and others. The fact 
is truly astounding. There are diseased minds as diseased 
appetites, that have a craving after moral poison. For the 
credit of human nature, one would almost wish that the 
Lord Mayor had suppressed the fact. 

But it will be said, these are not the things of which we 
boast. Perhaps not ; but if these things become common, 
admissible to the public eye, and are treated of lightly, we 
surely have the less reason to boast of our general progress 
towards all that is good. Crimes increase upon us, and 
murder stalks in Ireland unblushingly amongst the whole 
population — does its particular work, and not a hand is raised 
to arrest it. We, the greatest nation on the earth, as we 
delight to be called, have the sore of Ireland eating into our 
constitution — are compelled to favour rebellion, as we too 
often have done, by rewards, by preferments ; and, forgetting 
all this our disgrace at home, talk very largely of our power 
and dominion many thousand miles off. What wondrous 
boasters, too, we are about our " glorious constitution," which 
is not the least like what it was when it was first set up as 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 155 

our boast. We go on with the cuckoo cry, without knowing 
what it is we are lauding, nor at all sure that it will be to- 
morrow what it is to-day ; and we are, as a nation, so con- 
ceited as to believe that we alone are able to set up constitu- 
tions for all nations on the earth ; — and our manufacture in 
that kind, where we can inflict it, is upon a par with our 
"devil's-dust" which we export with it. How indignant 
was the larger portion of our daily and weekly press at the 
coup d'etat in France ! and what sudden virtue did they affect, 
and abhorrence for the breaking a constitutional oath, as they 
loved to call it, after the thing sworn to had been annihilated 
totally, till there was no constitution left to which fidelity 
could exist as a tangible property ! And did the press do 
this from their virtue ? Not a bit of it ; but because they are 
tainted with republican principles, which they deny in terms, 
and do their utmost to enforce in fact. Have they not been 
long lauding the man, and do they not now laud the man's 
memory, whose remarkable perfidy broke all ties? Who, 
when he put on the property-tax, did it with the solemn 
asseveration that he intended it only for a period, and subse- 
quently, in the heat of debate, forgot himself, and let out 
that, simultaneously with his imposing it, he commenced a 
system of taking off certain taxes, with the intention of per- 
petuating it. They even applauded the truth of the states- 
man who, dating from his own mouth his conversion to Free 
Trade from a certain period, had subsequently to that period 
spoken most eloquently against the repeal, which in his heart 
he had purposed to effect. It is quite fit, and in character, 
that the Free-Traders should erect statues to such men as I 
see they are doing. For my own part, whenever T shall see 
such a memorial, I shall feel inclined to give it the inscrip- 
tion from honest Homer, — 

■ O; % iri^ov (jbiv xiv$'/i Iv) Cf>^itr)v ccXXo Vz u-tt'A," — -Z7. 1. 312. 



156 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 

" For as the gates of Hades I detest 
The man whose heart and language disagree." 

COWPER. 

I quote Cowper, though he does not express the whole sense 
of the original. There is, in the line in Homer, not only dis- 
agreement between words and thoughts, but the evil con- 
cealment — " >ii\jQ7\ hi poeslv." Did all the vituperation of the 
President of France, by the English press, arise from a 
virtuous indignation — from a sense, a nice moral sense, of 
keeping word, faith, or oath ? — nor, in right minds, is there 
much difference between these words, if the object of all is 
truth. Not a bit of it. It was a mere pandering to the 
republican spirit, which they verily believed most palatable 
to their paymasters — the low public ; many of them the 
rich, yet still the low vulgar. 

After our Keform Bill had passed, what were the first par- 
liamentary decisions with regard to contested seats ? How 
did the press then treat the regard to truth and honour, or 
rather the disregard ? Acknowledging, as they were com- 
pelled to do, that decisions depended, not in the slightest 
degree on the merits of the cases, but on the political char- 
acters of the several committees, there was among them all 
but little of the indignation which has been of late so con- 
spicuous for culprits, real or supposed, on the other side of 
the water. Our own parliamentary decisions alluded to were 
treated rather as a laughable farce, than as they ought to 
have been, as the solemn scenes of a tragedy whose last act 
was and is yet to come. I do not here intend to be the 
champion of the French President, nor is it the business of 
any of us, as far as I can learn, to pronounce against him. 
He may have done well or ill — the best or the worst for 
France. I only doubt if we are in a condition to judge, and 
if any of our public indignation had any virtuous origin 
whatever. Then, again, what political braggarts were we, 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 157 

that we were at peace at home when revolutions were abroad, 
while we had been, and were still, the instigators of more 
than half the revolutions. And what swaggerings were there 
of a loyalty amongst the very parties whose payments went 
to circulate pamphlets perversive of the monarchy, the 
aristocracy, and the church, to the tearing to rags and tatters 
the remnant of our constitution. And see the detestable sham 
of the Democratic Manchester School. While circulating 
sedition, they pretend lovingly to follow the Sovereign with 
shouts of profession. Just as a kite spreads out its wide 
wings over what it is devouring, so would democracy throw 
its arms round the monarchy, to strangle it. There has been 
a wide bragging that the towns should overrule the country. 
Verily, England teems with braggadocios. 

There is one thing very notable in the great Boasters of 
the press ; they are always glorifying " this nineteenth 
century." They evidently mean to say this nineteenth cen- 
tury is the most enlightened age of the world — we enlighten 
it, therefore it is enlightened. We have dissipated every 
shadow of darkness to all who choose to read what we say — 
in fact, we are emphatically the nineteenth century. I 
observe they employ this phraseology whenever facts and 
arguments are too strong to combat fairly, and they wish to 
set evident truth aside, to dress up some fallacy. Thus they 
say, " Are we to be told such and such a thing in this nine- 
teenth century?" cunningly stating as the question what is 
not the question. This figure of impudence is in great 
favour with our swaggerers — it answers the double purpose 
of demanding credit for their own wisdom — that there is no 
wisdom, indeed, but what takes its source from their heads 
— and of condemning all who differ with them as fools. It 
is astonishing how they swell when they use this figure. 
The very rankness of their brains helps them ; for plant 
there a fallacy or a truism, they grow to pumpkins in no 



158 ABE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

time, and sprout out the wonder of the nineteenth century. 
The important gentleman who does these things is a very 
great man. He dips his pen in thunder and lightning. Some 
such a one I find described in an old play — 

'•'How he looks, 
As he did scorn the quorum, and were hungry 
To eat a statesman ! 'las, an office in 
The household is too little for a breakfast ; 
A baron but a morning's draught, he'll gulp it- 
Like a round egg in muscadine. Methinks 
At every wiping of his mouth should drop 
A golden saying of Pythagoras. 
A piece of Machiavel I see already 
Hang on his beard, which wants but stroaking out ; 
The statutes and the Magna Charta have 
Taken a lease at his tongue's end." 

As to this nineteenth century's superior wisdom I am more 
than sceptical ; but I will say no more about it, lest I put 
my head in a hornet's nest. I will, however, say this, that 
a more modest age than our own was wont to use a far 
different phraseology — such as, " There were giants in those 
days." Even old truthful Homer, who wrote of heroes of 
days before him, acknowledged the inferiority of the men of 
his time. " As men are now, they could not do what heroes 
did then." But really this outrageous conceit is only trick- 
ing up the present age, like a stuffed figure of sticks and 
straw, to be thrown into the lumber-room of time ; or, if 
ever brought out, only for contempt and ridicule. 

I little thought, when I began this, to touch upon politics ; 
but how could one treat of national swaggerings without 
coming, however unwillingly, direct upon the subject ? Here 
is the enormous lie of the big and little loaf meeting one at 
every corner of every street. The contest between the Big- 
endians and Little-endians was a virtuous contest in com- 
parison with that of the Big-loafians and the Little-loafians. 
All England is perambulated between the two monsters of 
the old puppet-show, "Big-mouth" and "Little-mouth" in 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 159 

coalition. For every bouncer Big-mouth swallows before 
the gaping multitude, he lets out a bigger ; while Little - 
mouth is shown up in derision ; and thus, as of old, the 
people are gulled. And this is the boasted representative 
constitution of England ! In truth, the forty- shilling free- 
hold, itself degenerated into an absurd falsehood by the 
alteration of the value of money, democratised the nation. 
A word or two more about our boasted prosperity ; — for that 
is the present great sham boast — the big-mouth braggart 
that sits the Jupiter Scapin of the press. It is an odd pros- 
perity that people run away from as from a plague. But 
this panic has extended to our colonies. Having none to 
help them now in our Parliaments, they are driven to despe- 
ration ; and our colonists are emigrating, shirjping themselves 
off from a ruinous prosperity. Now, when we boast of our 
honesty again, do let the West Indians put in a word, and 
show the swindle that has been practised upon them. We 
compelled them to sell their property infinitely below its 
value, under the pretence of humanity, and then encouraged 
slaves elsewhere, to complete the ruin of those whom we 
compelled, when they first held their estates, to cultivate 
them by a complement of slaves, the condition of the tenure. 
No one would quarrel with the getting rid of slavery ; but 
who is not disgusted at the sham, the villanous pretence, and 
the dishonesty of the great swindle with which the abolition 
was completed ? Thus, says the Guardian : " Among the 
cross-currents of emigration and immigration which are 
setting to and fro over the face of the earth, one has opened, 
we observe, from Jamaica to Australia. The hand of death 
is upon the old colony — the vigour of life and health in the 
young one ; and it is not surprising that even the West 
Indian, of all human beings the most unfit to buffet his way 
in a new climate, and a bustling scene, is tempted to seek a 
refuge across the broad Pacific. These poor people are 



160 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 

escaping, not from ruin, for ruin has already overtaken them, 
but from the intolerable annoyance — for to any European it 
is intolerable — of living in subjection to the childish caprice 
and arrogance of a coloured population. Jamaica is fast 
becoming a negro island ; its inhabitants are fast relapsing 
into the vices and the ignorance of the savage state. 
Whether any policy on our part could have wholly averted 
this result — which the policy adopted by us has certainly 
accelerated — it is now, we fear, too late to inquire." When 
the islands shall have passed into American hands, history 
may possibly furnish us with some answer to the question. 
It is commonly said that bodies do what individuals could 
not do — that iniquity divided among many is like a river 
that loses itself in the sands, and is kept out of sight — 
it vanishes. What honest man could do what parliaments 
have done, and what parliaments, we fear, with our present 
or future representative system, will be sure to do ? 

I have shown that, with regard to trades, there is open 
admitted cheatery. If there be this taint" in our population, 
how will it be so fitly represented as by those who will carry 
out such a people's convenient views ? It is true in the moral 
as the natural world — great bodies draw the smaller after 
them. Our trade-leagues are frightful bodies. If they are 
to govern England, will trade morals, such as they have been 
shown to be, prevail ? — or shall we have a hope of returning 
to Christian morals ? But if it be true that there are but 
these two interests, it is worth a moment's consideration, 
which is in its own nature a temporary one, and which a 
permanent one. If the temporary prevails, all goes with it 
when it sinks ; if the other, safety is perpetuated. Commer- 
cial countries are ever in a struggle for supremacy — for in a 
fair exchange of goods alone there is but a transfer from one 
pocket to the other, and a general equality. But this is not 
the condition any country is contented with. But the home 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 161 

prosperity, the home trade, is at once the most advantageous 
and the most safe, and the least subject to temptations which 
affect a nation's morality. It is only to insure a mockery — 
but that I care little for — to assert that we can never be safe, 
nor ever a truly moral people, until we learn to rely more 
upon ourselves, and prepare for that which must come — a loss 
of foreign trade.* The tendency of all foreign countries is 
to look to their own resources to supply their own wants. 
The time will assuredly come when our monster-manufacture 
system must dwindle to more moderate dimensions. What 
then ? Herodotus tells us of the wisdom of the Parians 
towards the Milesians. " When the Parians visited Miletus, 
to put an end to its disturbances, in their progress through 
the desolate country they noted down the names of those who 
had well cultivated their lands ; and called together the 
people, and placed the direction of affairs in the hands of 
those safe owners' hands, and enjoined all the Milesians, who 
had before been factious, to obey them ; and thus they restored 
tranquillity." There was a madman at Athens who thought 
all the ships that entered the Piraeus were his own. He 
revelled in the idea of his imaginary wealth. I think of him 
when I see a Free Trader, and would ask him what foreigners 
have the profit of all the ships that enter our ports. The 
country that takes duty upon our goods makes us pay its 
taxes, but pays itself nothing of ours. This is what the Irish 
economist called, " Eeciprocity all on one side." Well, well ; 
this is all to be laughed at. Let those laugh who win. They 
have been winning, and may win. We go on, they say with 
a bragging face, most swimmingly. Be it so. So do swine 

* There is a very able pamphlet on this subject, published I believe as long- 
ago as 1800, by Mr Spence, showing that England could nourish and be happy 
independent of commerce. It was written at a time when Buonaparte threat- 
ened to annihilate our colonies and our commerce. The writer maintains the 
theory of the "French Economists," and shows that Adam Smith is of one 
opinion with them. 

I, 



162 ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 

when they cut their own throats as they swim : the more 
speed the worse for them. 

"Who in modern times will sue a politician for even a broken 
oath, to say nothing of his words, nature's gift to conceal 
thought withal ? Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, boasted that 
he had sworn to seventeen constitutions. There are such 
things as unblushing confessions to perjury. The gods, says 
the poet, laugh at lovers' perjuries; those demigods — the 
dupes, and demagogues their panderers — laugh at politicians' 
promises and perjuries ; for a statesman's promise is his oath. 
The constitution sworn to to-day is gone to-morrow. It may 
happen, indeed, that the thing to which fidelity is vowed is 
a thing defunct, and none of the defender's killing either — 
then, when he looks about for the object, it is gone. But 
have a care, sworn defender, that you knock it not on the 
head yourself. The Puritans had a wonderful invention of 
breaking oaths by Providence, the very happiest ingenuity of 
knavery. 

"Nil metuuDt jurare, nihil proniittere parcunt, 
Sed simul ac cupidse mentis satiata libido est 
Dicta nihil metuere, nihil perjuria curant." 

When it was first moved in the House of Commons to pro- 
ceed against the king capitally, Cromwell stood up and told 
them, that if any man moved this with design, he should 
think him the greatest traitor in the world ; but, since Pro- 
vidence and necessity had cast them upon it, he should pray 
God to bless their counsels. They murdered the king in the 
king's name. 

There is a story told by Sir Kenelm Digby of Lipsius's 
dog, which may be applicable to what may one of these days 
take place. The truest defender may step in and take all to 
himself. Multitudes are making every day a snatch at the 
constitution. Some are for taking the aristocracy by the 
throat ; some for smothering the bishops, and demolishing tl 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 163 

Church ; some, not too openly, but quite evidently, for 
strangling the monarchy. Where will be the constitution 
when all these hands have had their snatch at the basket, let 
the story of Lipsius's dog tell : " Other less dogs snatching, 
as he trotted along, part of what hung out of his basket, 
which he carried in his mouth, he set it down to worry one of 
them. In the mean time, the others fed at liberty and ease 
upon the meat that lay unguarded, till he, coming back to it, 
drove them away, and himself made an end of eating it up." 
Now, this faithful, this sworn defender, was carrying his 
master's basket. Did he make himself strong for his master's 
future benefit? 

The case may easily be imagined, that a set of rascally 
dogs may make a snatch at a constitution basket, and each 
take out his part, and that they may all be driven away by 
the dog that eats up all that remains. 

It is possible — I only say possible — in deference to the 
many 1 & opinion, that we have had a Lipsius's dog the other 
side of our narrow strait. And it may be possible that we 
may have among ourselves many ravenous and unscrupulous 
dogs, whom, at length, it may be policy to drive away ; the 
danger being, who will eat up the remainder of the basket. 

Well; history tells us of constitutions as good as our own 
that are defunct, and some think not without reason, by 
suicide — of wealth and prosperity as great as ours, that have 
vanished — of a people as wise, and fully as great, and as 
energetic, that are now far other than they were ; excepting 
in one respect, for they are boasters still, and were almost as 
great boasters as ourselves — the Spaniards. We are daily 
swaggering as they swaggered, that the sun never set on 
their dominions ; they were almost as ridiculously proud as 
ourselves. Now, I will give you a quotation from a Madrid 
journal. The first part is strikingly like the boast of our own 
daily papers. The dishonest way in which we have treated 



164 



ABE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US ? 



our colonies may bring in time our language to be of the same 
cast as the latter part of the quotation. Even gold made 
that country poor. Vast tracts in Spain are uncultivated. 
Australian gold may not make us rich. Industry is mis- 
directed that is taken off the land. I think the quotation 
offers a warning : — 

" The Spanish dominions once occupied an eighth of the known 
world. Our country has been the greatest of the globe ; and, in 
the days of its splendour, neither the gigantic empire of Alexander, 
nor the vastness of that of the present Czar, could be compared to 
it. The sun never set upon our country, which contained 80,000 
square leagues and 60,000,000 inhabitants. Of so much richness 
and power we have lost more than two-thirds in a couple of cen- 
turies. In 1565 we ceded Malta to the Order of St John ; France 
afterwards took possession of it, and ultimately the English. In 
1620, Louis XIII. incorporated Lower Navarre and Beam with 
France. In 1649 our government recognised the conquest of 
Boussillon, made by the same monarch. In 1640, Portugal 
emancipated herself, with all her Transatlantic possessions. In 
1581 we began losing the Netherlands ; in 1648 they made them- 
selves independent. 

" The English took from us in 1626 the island of Barbadoes ; 
in 1656, Jamaica ; 1704, Gibraltar ; 1718, the Lucayas ; 1759, 
Dominica; 1797, Trinidad. In 1635, the French made them- 
selves masters of Dominico ; in 1650, of Granada ; in 1665, of 
Guadaloupe. In 1697 we shared St Domingo with France ; in 
1821 we lost our half. In 1790 we abandoned Oran after the 
earthquake. In 1791 we ceded our rights over Oran and Mazal- 
quivir to Morocco. In 1 7 1 3 we ceded Sardinia to the Duke of 
Savoy ; Padua, Placentia, Lucca, and other districts in the north 
of Italy, were ceded to princes of the reigning family. In 1759 
we lost Naples and Sicily, in consequence of the Infante Don 
Carlos selling them to occupy the Spanish throne. In 1800 we 
ceded Louisiana to France ; and in 1819, Florida to the Americans 
and lastly, the South American colonies emancipated themselves 
successively from 1816 to 1824." 

The above extract may appear to some to present matter 
for thought too grave for an essay of discontent at the trifling 
cheatery of degenerated trade. Yet not so; for if these 



ARE THERE NOT GREAT BOASTERS AMONG US? 165 

doings are indices of a great change in the morals of the 
nation — if it abandons fair dealing, and the abandonment is 
not stigmatised as it deserves, but passed off with a laugh 
and a shrug of the shoulders, I do think we have no right to 
expect a continuance of favour to ourselves, and that our 
universal boasting is an aggravation of all our offences. 

If it be healthy sometimes to be a little cynical, and to rate 
soundly, that a sweeter temper may follow, it may be no un- 
kindness to give matter for a little railing to one's friends, 
either in their apathy or their sufferings. I was first led to 
write this paper by a review of our " honesty," and our per- 
petual swaggering about it, and about everything else. 

Let those who can go on still in peace, eat and drink con- 
tentedly their daily poisons, called the necessaries of life. For 
my own part, there are two things, either of which will give 
me the highest gratification — either that it can be proved, 
that all that is said to be proved to the contrary is a slander ; 
that, in fact, no vendor of any article ever adulterates it ; that 
we may fearlessly eat, drink, and be happy ; — or the alterna- 
tive that, all being proved, and confession made, a remedy 
will be found out for the pressing evil. So that, whether with 
a view to our political stomachs or our natural, our aspira- 
tions may be gratified without detriment to life ; or, better 
put in a wiser man's words — 

"May good digestion wait on appetite, 
And health on both." 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

[AFRIL 1853.] 



The parable of the " Tares among the Wheat" is exempli- 
fied in all the doings of good in this world. " The great 
enemy " insinuates himself into our best promises, as the 
proper objects of his mischief. The better a project is, the 
more are we to look for evil obstructing it. Folly, delusion, 
and not unfrequently hypocrisy, take possession of the agents, 
and thus good intentions and bad intentions are mixed up 
together ; vehement folly overpowers weak goodwill, and 
designing knavery deceives both, and works secretly and in 
a flattering disguise. Professors of universal philanthropy 
have acted cruelties incredible, if shuddering experience had 
not seen them written in blood on the page of history. Pro- 
fessors of peace become the disturbers of the world ; the 
lovers of liberty, tyrants and enslavers of nations ; and, to 
descend to the insignificant, members of temperance societies, 
the most intemperate of men. We say, to descend to the 
insignificant, not because we think their doings are unimpor- 
tant, but because their extravagant assumptions make them 
too ridiculous to attract much serious attention, and as yet 
they have little influence over general society. Nevertheless, 
they are working in a mine by day and by night, and have 
among them, recognised and unrecognised, a mixture of 












TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 167 

workers, of evil intentions and of good intentions. When, 
therefore, we compare some of their agents to " tares among 
the wheat," we are acknowledging that there is wheat — we 
are admitting that there is good seed, and the probability that 
it will not all be choked. 

We are not about to commit the folly of proving by argu- 
ment that drunkenness is an evil of great magnitude — that it 
is a sin ; nor to deny that it is most praiseworthy, nay, a 
Christian duty, to suppress it. On the contrary, we think 
the good to be obtained by judicious efforts so great, that we 
grieve to see the foolish and the designing making themselves 
the prominent, or, where not prominent, the really moving 
agents. We have read many of their publications ; we have 
seen in them, often in subtle disguise, disaffection to the 
institutions of our country, disloyalty, and dissent. Where 
these are, we expect to find more hatred than love, and a 
lamentable lack of that charity which "thinketh no evil," 
and is the " bond of peace." Under an affected philanthropy, 
a universal pity, for all who are not like themselves, we see 
sweeping and severe condemnations — denunciations against 
all who dare to combat the most problematical of their opinions. 
We are sorry to say that there is the coarseness of a vulgar 
hatred in their very commiseration ; and we have no doubt 
they would — that is, the more virulent of them — after putting 
down their weaker brethren, establish, if they could, in this 
our land, an Inquisition as detestable as any which religious 
bigotry has inflicted upon mankind. Even now, they will 
neither let man nor woman die quietly in their beds without 
an inquest, and branding the character of even the drinkers of 
" so small a thing as small beer " with the infamy of drunk- 
ards. Their weekly obituary shows no mercy ; nor are we 
without indication of what they would do if they had the 
power, notwithstanding all their philanthropy, with living 
transgressors. We have this moment hit upon the following 



168 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

passage in the British Temperance Advocate for August 1852 : 
— " The Grand Duke of Tuscany has enacted, that all young 
men leading an irregular life, or who have contracted habits 
of rioting and debauchery, shall be subjected to military dis- 
cipline. Would that we had some such law for the English 
'fast ! ' " In the same number of the Advocate we find the 
inconsistent deprecation of punishment : " Floggings, tread- 
mills, solitary cells, chains, hulks, penal colonies, and hang- 
men, are rude, cruel, and irrational methods of reforming 
human hearts." Here is commiseration for the vagabonds, 
the usual recipients of floggings, &c. ; but who are the " fast " 
men ? who are they to whom this cant word is applied ? — 
Youthful members of our universities, and of our fashion- 
able clubs. These, indeed, are a class out of the pale of 
commiseration, irreclaimable reprobates, truly meriting " flog- 
gings," and other not less penetrating arguments of " Tuscan 
military discipline." Do we not recognise the incipient will 
that would set up an " Inquisition," issue commissions to our 
universities, and send their " alguazils " into our colleges and 
club-houses to hunt out and cany off to some auto-da-fe the 
" fast men," every drinker of champagne, and, for lack of other 
victims, the consumers of the thinnest potations of diluted 
small-beer ? But the damnatory obituary of this August num- 
ber shows what parties would be most in request by the 
alguazils of the Temperance Inquisition. It is headed 
" William M'Yitie, a weaver, died last week at Carlisle, in 
consequence of drinking to excess — free drink, given by the 
Toi^y canvassers" We have not heard of any Tory canvassers 
having been indicted for the murder, which we may be sure 
they would have been at Carlisle, had any been so guilty, 
and we hope we are not uncharitable in discrediting the 
account as a telling fabrication. To suppose it true, would 
be at least as uncharitable as to believe it to be false. 

The besetting sin of these temperance and teetotal societies 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 169 

is their utter deficiency of that greatest of the virtues, " char- 
ity." It is all devoured by their arrogance. They exclusively 
are the " salt of the earth." There is neither religion nor 
morality in any other. As their proselytism is chiefly among 
the working classes (misnamed by mischievous politicians, 
"the poor"), the richer and less accessible are peculiar objects 
of their aversion. One would suppose that in their water- 
drinking pilgrimages they had come upon the two celebrated 
fountains in Ardennes of love and of hate ; that, after drinking 
of the first, they had looked at their own images in the stream, 
and had drank freely of the other when they came back to 
the world of business, and looked round upon their neigh- 
bours. They would be as dominant as the Papacy, and, even 
less tolerant, would put a yoke upon every one's neck too 
grievous to be borne. Their publications — and they are sig- 
nificant enough — fall short of their virulence of speech at 
public meetings, and their missionary influences, and their 
secret workings. We have conversed with very many, and 
have found them steeped to the lips in the waters of bitter- 
ness. If you are not of them, you are against them. They 
would invade every home, nay, the very sanctity of religion. 
Some even go so far as to assume, daringly, a miracle in them- 
selves ; or, to speak most favourably, deteriorate the first 
miracle of our Lord at the marriage of Cana. A man once 
told us that his minister had invented a wine similar to that 
which our Lord made, when he commanded the water to be 
made wine. As to sacramental wine — floundering efforts are 
made even among Jewish rabbis to prove that it was not real 
wine — one " expresses his willingness " (not being able to 
deny that our blessed Lord did institute the sacramental 
wine) " to administer the Lord's Supper to a stern temperance 
man, who should ask it, in water." A " stern temperance 
man" is one not to be denied anything. 

But these blasphemies are too disgusting. Eankness 



170 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

springs up under the cloven foot wherever it treads. Kam- 
pant pride sets up itself as a god of vengeance. Slight 
differences are not to be borne. Thus we read in the Progres- 
sionist, No. 14, — 

" The plain duty of teetotallers now is to be holding meetings, 
and lifting up the voice of warning and of persuasion ; in this way 
thousands will be won, and prevented from becoming drunkards, 
who, in case of neglect, will be carried down the stream. We 
are the rather urgent, because we believe men are waiting to be 
made teetotallers, literally groaning under landlord fetters, though 
they don't break them ! — crying, ' Come over and help us ; the 
fields are white unto the harvest ; send forth more labourers ! ' 
Shall they cry in vain 1 

" We mark but one feature now ; it is a solemn one, and we 
touch it with fear. Divine Providence seems angry with the 
opponents of teetotalism ; and that sect which, and which alone, 
in its united capacity, and in daring impious violation of its own 
rules, put forth its power to destroy teetotalism, is writhing under 
the road of displeasure. Its funds pilfered and squandered, 
many of its chapels deserted, some of its heads drunken, and 
hundreds of preachers deserted, while the very man and men whom 
they thought and sought to crush and silence, are alive, sober, 
prosperous, and prevailing ! 

' Who shall contend with God, or who 
Shall harm whom He delights to bless?' " 

We stop not to inquire who are the particular persons 
denounced, nor the landlords who impose fetters. The pre- 
sumption of arrogating all blessings to themselves, and, by 
insinuation, the power of inflicting vengeance, cannot be 
overlooked. And this is temperance ! It is not to be 
thought strange, then, that the temperance man should set 
himself above other men; — he, the only "Sapiens," the 
"Kex denique regurn." The Advocate, in wrath against 
some witty satirist, says, — 

" He will certainly not have the grateful thanks of ' Ebenezer 
Styles,' the reclaimed shoemaker, but Sir Toby Belch and his 






TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 171 

sensual crew may hiccup forth his praise, and drink his health 
in bumpers. We think the said humble ' Ebenezer,' with his 
temperance, a nobler being than the proudest peer in his cups ; — 
nay, that one sober ' cobbler ' is, morally, worth a round dozen 
of drunken kings." 

The rich, of course, are they who care not for the poor ; 
and the wine-drinking rich are in modern statistics no part 
of the people, and must be held up to public odium. 

" We do not mean the wealthy residents of the squares. We 
speak of the people, who, like the wounded wayfaring man in 
sacred story, are on ' the other side.' Alas ! that there should be 
that < other side.' " 

That is, there should be no rich, no princes, no kings, 
because Ebenezer Cobblers, belonging to the temperance 
society, are far better men. This " divine man," this 
" Ebenezer Cobbler" must, however, be lifted to the utmost 
height of dignity ; and kings and priests — of course, neces- 
sarily all drunkards — must be sent sprawling to the earth, 
and in humility to the dust make acknowledgment of the 
supremacy of water- drinking " Ebenezers." And as the 
tameness of prose may not be adequate to the great exalta- 
tion, the enthusiasm of song is in requisition. Thus, — 

" Crafts in Danger. 

How pleasing the thought that our wrong-crafts are falling, 

Which hold divine man as an imbecile thrall ; 
And, oh ! the reflection is sweet and consoling, 

That I, even I, can assist in their fall. 

The drink-craft, old king-craft, old priest-craft, do battle 

Against the free God-entail' d interests of man ; 
We must not submit to be treated like cattle, 

And toil, bleed, and die for the error- throned clan. 

The drink-craft obscures man's best interest and duty, 

Deprives him of judgment, of honour, of purse, 
Of conscience, and moral and physical beauty ; 

Wc first must remove that most hydra-horn'd curse. 



172 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

Oh ! scatter the clouds that o'ershadow his reason ; 

When, bless' d with that spirit that intellect lights, 
His progress to truth will increase, and in season 

No error shall stand betwixt him and his rights. 

Let no one conclude he can do nothing in it ; 

Each man, woman, child, can break one massy link 
In wrong-craft's worse soul-binding chain any minute, 

By signing the pledge to abandon strong drink." 

Temperance Advocate. 

Verily there shall be no craft but the cobbler's craft ; and 
by the decree of the Ebenezers, no drink but water. We 
frequently find the clergy of the Church of England under 
ban, and are told of an irreverent description of the clergy 
given by one of our own bishops ; namely, that the clergy 
might be divided into three parts — " the Port-wine clergy, the 
Self-denying clergy, and the Evangelical clergy." — We should 
like to know what bishop (our bishop) could have given 
such a description ; because, being so out of the habit of 
hearing of any such impertinences thrown on their brethren 
the clergy from that quarter, we must be allowed to doubt 
the authenticity. Not that, otherwise given, we should 
object to the designation, for we have known *many very 
worthy pious clergy, who may be strictly called Port- wine 
clergy ; and whoever is acquainted with the parochial offices, 
and calls of rectors, vicars, and curates, must know that the 
poor make frequent demands upon their little stock, and 
generally come, armed against all remonstrance, with a re- 
commendation from the doctor. We should rather think a 
clergyman not a port-wine one would be uncharitable — be 
thought unkind, and lose somewhat of a wholesome influence. 
" What do you do," said a child to a drover, " with all those 
oxen?" " Little boy," said the drover, " I eat them all my- 
self." The Temperance Societies would prevent the answer 
of vicar and curate, " He drinks it all himself." And if he 
were to drink all his little stock, and the parish find for the 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 173 

poor, we should rather say, May it do him all the good in 
the world, and joy go with him ! And we doubt not, if this 
be his only sin, however astonished Ebenezer may be here- 
after to find himself in the same happy place with the said 
curate — we have, we say, every reason to hope he will not 
be kept out of it for a glass of port wine. 

This bigotry is disgusting and ridiculous ; it keeps no 
measure with truth. Heaven's bounty is not to be denied, 
because it may be abused. Is all wine a poison, as they 
pronounce it to be, because too much of it will intoxicate ? 
So then is every good given to us. A man may eat beef 
like a glutton, and fall down in a fit of apoplexy, but is beef 
therefore a poison ? Is the butcher to be indicted for murder, 
because his neighbour Guttle has stuffed himself with veal 
into the undertaker's hands ? There are such outrages upon 
common-sense, that we can only wonder they can ever be 
seriously entertained. It seems quite a satire on the credu- 
lity and folly of mankind to bring them to the proof of 
argument ; the only argument, however, must be the argu- 
mentum ad ahsurdum. The world at large can never assent 
to such nonsense, and is more likely to put down temperance 
and teetotal societies, than to be put down by them. These 
societies are really, by their absurdities, marring the good 
they might do. If any should use soberness of speech and 
conduct, surely they are the professors of temperance ; 
whereas, they are the perpetual scolds wherever they plant 
themselves. They proclaim war against the innocent, as 
against the guilty. If you drink anything but water, you 
are a drunkard ; and should any accident befall you, let your 
loving relatives — wife, husband, children, brothers, sisters — 
dread the epitaph that will be found of you (mayhap the 
drinker of a glass of poor small-beer, on the day or the day 
before your death) in that awful obituary published monthly 
in these Chronicles and Advocates, which gloat upon your 



174 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

infamy, and delight to suspend you over the limbo-lake of 
drunkards. Nay, these most intolerant of men will not tol- 
erate each other, if there is the slightest suspicion of a shade 
of difference among them. Woe betide the unfortunate 
culprit who shall withdraw his name from the Society's 
books, however good and substantial his reasons. They will 
admit his right to withdraw his pledge, for it was given with 
that power of returning it ; but see what construction they 
put on the withdrawal. 

" When a pledge is broken, it implies a want of honour or 
veracity ; when it is withdrawn, it is supposed to indicate a 
change of opinion ; but the following letter is from one who is 
too honourable to break a pledge — who has not changed his opin- 
ion respecting total abstinence, and yet withdrawn his name." 

The letter alluded to states fairly enough : — 

" I still most heartily approve of total abstinence, and much 
regret that the fashions and customs of society are not such as 
can adopt it as a general principle ; but, approving of the cause, 
as I still do, this constant wrangling with relations and friends 
and acquaintances, who are fond of a moderate social glass, is not 
only unpleasant, but acts hostilely to my interests." 

One would suppose such a man was deserving of praise 
for Iris honesty, his good temper, and his wisely yield- 
ing to the kind remonstrances — or wranglings if you 
please — of relatives, friends, and acquaintances. It was 
surely wise, prudent, and of a gentle disposition, as showing 
due consideration for others, that he should prefer advancing 
domestic peace by this little sacrifice. Is a man to be ever 
obstinate, and never yield to gentle influences, even in 
matters where his opinions remain the same ? To do other- 
wise is the perverse obstinacy of an ill-tempered fool. But 
no ; the culprit must have no quarter. The opinion of a 
temperance man is taken out of the category of opinions, and 
made a religion. Even so — for the miserable, gentle spirit 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 175 

is told plainly, in a long and ferocious article in the Temper- 
ance Chronicle, that lie will not have any " Divine assist- 
ance ; " that in resisting their (the Temperance Society's) 
will, he is " going contrary to the Divine will ;" that he has 
been acting " a solemn farce," that he is " a coward." Alas, 
the poor solicitor's clerk ! for such he is. " Divine assistance 
will enable the brave man to stand by the whole truth — will 
be a sun and a shield to them that walk uprightly," (only a 
moderate glass, mind — he never said he could not stand or 
walk), " but no aid is promised to the coward." He 
" would never have been a Daniel in the lions' den " — alas ! 
he is scarcely out of the den of fiercer animals. He is 
reminded, also, that " he that doubteth is damned if he eat, 
(and condemned if he drink)." Misery on misery is heaped 
upon his unfortunate, his sinful head. He is plainly told he 
will never reach heaven. He is made a scarecrow, like 
Pliable. 

" How easy to get to heaven if the gate were not so strait and 
the way so narrow. But will all strife end here 1 When Pliable 
got out of the Slough of Despond and returned to the city of De- 
struction, his neighbours laughed at him for his cowardice ; for all 
respect the brave. They called him turn-coat, and held him to 
be a mean and sorry fellow to be so easily terrified." 

What can be plainer than that they do think to terrify him ? 
What ! allow a solicitor' s s clerk, taking the pledge at thirty- 
five, to escape from their bondage ! It must not be ; and so 
they jump profanely into the judgment-seat of Omnipotence, 
and pronounce his " damnation" if he eat, but " condemna- 
tion" if he drink — pretty much the same thing — with all the 
virulence of a malicious vengeance. What the result has 
been we know not ; — if the lion, unyoked from the Cybele 
Temperance's car for his pursuit, has brought him back to be 
duly punished, or if he still wanders about under the curse of 
their tongues, yet unwilling to submit himself to the greater 



176 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

one of their domination. And such are men professing tem- 
perance — snch is the language they use. What worse can 
intoxication effect ? What would they not do, if they had 
power to set up their own Holy Office, and send forth their 
alguazils to drive prey into their Inquisition ? 

Nor need they fear any lack of work for their Holy Inquisi- 
tors. It is not here and there a poor solicitor's clerk to be 
victimised. By their own account, they who withdraw the 
pledge are more than half their numbers, to say nothing of 
the hypocrites they have made, who, without withdrawing, 
never keep the pledge. We find this admission in the Tem- 
perance Chronicle — headed, by the by, with this singularly 
inappropriate motto, "Every man that striveth for the mastery 
is temperate in all things," and therefore it commences with 
this intemperate falsehood : — Of drunkenness, " the cause is 
the drinking customs of society. These customs surround 
from his childhood every man who is born in this country." 
So, then, there is not an abstemious man — no, not one. Per- 
adventure, there are not ten men for whose sake this intoxi- 
cating land may escape vengeance. But this is followed by 
an unexpected bit of truth : " It is, however, one thing to 
reclaim a drunkard, and another to keep him sober when 
reclaimed." So that the " reclaimed" may be drunkards 
still. This is after the view of vice taken by John Hunting- 
don. " If John Huntingdon," quoth he, " commits a sin, I 
have nothing to do with that ; I abhor John Huntingdon — I 
am not he — I reject his very name. I am S.S., Sinner 
Saved." The "reclaimed," it seems, may abhor their other 
selves, and take both benefits to themselves ; they have been 
once reclaimed, they retain the sanctity and the pleasure. 

" Of those who sign the pledge, fifty in every hundred break 
it ; and although it is an encouragement to know that throughout 
the kingdom about half stand firm, yet it is melancholy to think 
that half go back. In London, indeed, it is much worse. In a 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 177 

report presented to a recent Conference, it appears that in some 
districts of the metropolis, only thirty per cent of those who sign 
the pledge keep it ; in others, twenty ; and, in one depraved 
locality, only ten per cent. This breaking of the pledge has not 
been sufficiently considered by our temperance associations. If 
not guarded against, it will throw an air of ridicule over our whole 
proceedings. This is not all. Of those who break the pledge 
many have broken it twice, three times, four times, and some a 
dozen times." 

So far, then, there is a tendency in the pledge to make 
confirmed drunkards of fifty out of a hundred ; for greater is 
the temptation when there is a bond against it — the forbidden 
fruit is the sweetest — but it also makes " liars." 

" This shows that there is another disease besides intemperance, 
and that steps must be taken to counteract this mischief, which is 
as a plague-spot in the tee-total body. The other disease is false- 
hood. Our remedy is for drunkenness ; and it implies that when 
a man promises to abstain, we may rely upon his promise ; and if 
the pledge fail to hold him fast, it is not because he is a drimlcard, 
but because he is a liar.'" 

But if fifty out of a hundred elsewhere break the pledge, 
few indeed keep it in London. There is a vulgar saying as 
to a personage among the tailors, to which the report of the 
Temperance Society gives fearful confirmation ; nor have 
they — together with the compositors — the slightest notion of 
what honour is. 

"A man of honour, induced by a wish to do good to himself, 
or, by his example, to benefit other men, signs his name to the 
pledge of total abstinence, and you know you have him, and that 
you can rely upon him ; and so long as his name is on the books, 
you are certain that he will never drink intoxicating drinks ; but 
when the tailors and compositors of London sign the pledge, ninety 
out of every hundred break it, and you only find ten remaining 
true to their promise. And worse than this, some of the ninety 
faithless men have broken their promise many times." 

Alas for the poor tailors ! But we hope this account is a 
little exaggerated — more Teetotallorum ; we hope that they 



178 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

count by the adage that, as " nine tailors make a man," so 
every sinning man is nine tailors — in common arithmetic, 
ninety are but ten. If we place on the per contra side of the 
good, of these very few men reclaimed, the mass of aggra- 
vated evil — of hypocrites made, drunkenness confirmed by 
the very impulsive force of the temptation, the conceit and 
uncharitableness of those who really enter into the spirit of 
the societies, the lying and the slandering — we fear the evil 
will be found greatly to preponderate. This is a woeful con- 
sideration. We cannot remonstrate with the societies them- 
selves ; they are hopeless. They have entered upon a kind of 
civil war, fancying it peace. The excitement of a combat has 
enlarged itself, and become more the object than the original 
intention ; and such excitement must be kept up at all cost, 
and, we fear, with the preserving pepper of no little malice. 

We are not aware that this country is much worse than 
many others on the score of intoxication, at least intoxication 
by drink : other intoxications, of a far worse character, are 
becoming a habit. But in regard to drunkenness, before the 
rise of temperance societies, we can trace gradual improve- 
ment. In our youth, we remember, it was much worse. As 
to the higher and middle orders of society, it is altogether, 
and has been long, banished as a vulgar brutality ; and we 
are persuaded it is, and has long been, on the decline in 
the lower classes. How much temperance and total absti- 
nence societies have done towards this social improvement, 
we have shown by their own records. We indeed suspect 
that their doings retard the cure, while they are implanting, 
we verily believe, a worse evil — sowing enmity of man against 
man, and making bigots, by their alliances, in religion and 
politics — creating the worst self-pride, and its concomitant 
intolerance. We grieve to see the English character deterio- 
rating under the influence or tuition of societies and leagues. 
In olden times, at least, there was a blunt honesty, if there 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 179 

was not always wisdom. " The family of the Wrongheads," 
said Sir Francis Wronghead, " have been famous ever since 
England was England ;" but happily the Wrongheads inter- 
married with the Groodliearts and the Stouthearts, and the 
progeny has not been very bad. But there has sprung up 
an unhealthy race of quite a different breed, amidst the ill- 
ventilated fever-rooms of manufactories, and they are doing 
a world of mischief — making inroads upon the old truth, 
the old honesty, and the old bravery of England — quarrel- 
some, disaffected, conceited — children of religious and poli- 
tical puritanism, which, in whatever line it moves, is agape 
for persecution. We know not the insanity that is yet asleep 
within us. We must look back to history to see what it was 
when it broke out. Plague has been plague, though we 
have it not now ; yet do not let us imagine our bodies or our 
minds, as being of the same nature they were, are not 
capable of receiving it. To read the Book of Common Prayer 
was once an offence punishable with fine, imprisonment, and 
transportation. Seeing what men have been, leagued to an 
enthusiasm, no matter what its character, be it religious or 
political, can we doubt what they may be, if unhappily 
power is put into their hands to realise by deeds their follies, 
their brutalities, and all the extravagancies of their madness ? 
Once in so many years, they say, the whole people of England 
enact some insane extravagance. The disease is certainly 
at all times catching. It is kept alive in isolated communi- 
ties, leagues, and societies. It is from some one of these, 
in a state of extraordinary fever, that the public catch the 
disease. It is well, therefore, to note the symptoms, and 
give warning, to avoid contagion. We know not what turn 
an outbreak in any of these malady-retinent companies may 
take. The Public, that very ambiguous, uncertain person- 
age, may (and there have been attempts and tendencies that 
way) commit suicide or slaughter on all who do not fall in 



180 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

witli his absurd humour. The history of fanatic times is a 
broad page ; the innocent, quiescent reader lifts up his 
brows as he reads, and wonders if men could have been as 
men are — if " endowed with like passions " as himself. The 
residents in the grass-growing streets of country towns and 
retired hamlets, where the only excitement is still a game of 
draughts, or the sweeping the pool at Pope Joan, scarcely 
credit what they read in a weekly paper of revolutions 
abroad and alarms at home — take to their possets and beds 
in great satisfaction that they are highly favoured, and 
utterly discredit the possibility of such mischiefs ever reach- 
ing them. Some few such places are yet left in England 
undisturbed ; but let any one of these contagious maladies 
reach them, and if it be of a malignant kind, their whole 
quiescent natures will be changed ; folly, madness, brutality, 
will dance together, and trample into the mire all the decen- 
cies of life. It is so in every country. It is not climate 
that gives, but the nature of mankind that receives, or 
engenders, the dreadful fanaticism. Let us apply hellebore 
while we may. Prevention is better than cure. Fanaticism, 
of whatever kind, is of the nature of intoxicating gas — 
whoever takes it, though the meekest of the earth, throws 
about his pugnacious arms ferociously. It is the real 
"Devil's drink" which makes humanity fiendish. 

Suggestions of punishment are recorded with evident 
satisfaction ; we hope there is no collection of them set aside 
for future use. A Rev. D. F. Sunderland, as he is styled, a 
home missionary, does great execution at Bromwich. He 
addresses eight hundred Sunday-school children, whose 
parents are, we suppose, in the wretched condition described 
— " in the most filthy condition, ignorant, ragged, and in- 
temperate " — that is, we presume, they had not taken the 
pledge. A hint is given how such may be treated. The 
hint is precious as Arabian balm. It was rather indiscreet 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 181 

to mention it before eight hundred children, of ages to be 
mischievous, and fond of throwing stones, and who may be, 
when fanatically tutored, not unwilling to throw them even 
at their parents, of whom it is said — 

" They appear to be destitute of all moral feeling, and wholly 
absorbed in the gratification of depraved appetites. On Monday, 
August 1 8, a festival was held at the Summit Schools, and another 
at Great Bridge on the 25th, with large audiences in each case. 
An Arabian made a few pointed remarks in broken English, on 
the practice of missionaries in foreign parts in reference to intoxi- 
cating drinks, and to the great need of their labours at home. He 
said in his country, where the religion was not Christian, but 
Mahometan, they have a law which forbids the use of intoxicat- 
ing liquors, and which condemns all drunkards to be stoned to 
death ; and he added, that if such a law were in force in England, 
the houses would have to be pulled down to supply stones for the 
work." — Temperance Chronicle. 

Stoning to death is a very hard measure ; but suppose it 
is determined upon in conclave that the vice must be eradi- 
cated, or, to use a phrase more apt to stoning, crushed, it 
may be in reserve. As to milder punishments, we should 
not object to see a drunkard under the pump ; but we must 
take care that he is a drunkard, and nothing more. But 
when the crusade is entered upon, we shall be sure to have 
respectable men driven in, and first mildly subjected to the 
water-cure, while the Temperance Papacy is forcing upon 
them conversion. 

We are not well versed in statistics, and cannot, there- 
fore, give the number of respectable wine-merhants in this 
country : many thousands there are, doubtless, who bring up 
their families respectably, mix in good society, go to church, 
and observe all the decencies of life. In this mercantile 
world they fill a proper station ; they export and import, 
employ shipping, promote industry, add to the wealth of the 
country, and are as good and as useful, for aught we know, 
as any members of the community. Kespectable brewers 



182 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

also (we give, however, a hint to all to see that they have 
proper measures, that a pint shall be a pint, a quart a quart 
— this, however, by the by), following a legitimate trade — 
very proper men — all these are in the lists of proscription. 
They all come under the category of rascals — murderers. 
They must either be converted and give up their business, 
employ no more shipping or other industry, or they must not 
live. This is quite the spirit in the tirades against these 
respectable gentlemen ; and even to the letter, as they can- 
not be Christians, they may be treated after the Arabian 
fashion. There is an especial work published against them, 
the Physiologist, or under the substitute name, the Anthro- 
pologist — a word to the ignorant that must denote more 
dreadful guilt than they can be guilty of. They are shown 
here to be poisoners — murderers. Now we should like to be 
informed as to the occupations of these temperance-league 
men. Are none of them concerned in manufactories deterio- 
rating to health ? are none of them employing multitudes of 
human creatures in mills that breed consumption, in white- 
lead manufactories, where human life is " dwindled to the 
shortest span ? " Are any of them in the trade of fine-steel 
working ? If not directly concerned in getting profit from 
these life -destroying occupations, do they piously question 
themselves if they are not encouraging destruction of their 
fellow-men, as well as enslaving them, in order that they 
may wear cotton shirts and consume cheap sugar ? Alas ! 
temperancer or teetotaller, whatever you may say on the 
score of health-destroying about your neighbour, the honest 
wine-merchant — 

" Mutato nomine de te 
Fabula narratur." 

But the enmity does not stop here ; a holocaust of wine- 
merchants and brewers will not satisfy the lust of fanaticism. 
The port- wine clergy — they are not human beings (a bishop 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 183 

in lawn sleeves, of course, of the Church of England, is 
nothing better than a big bloated spider, so large as to 
devour widows' houses) : and of course they ought to be 
crushed, and their webs destroyed. 

" Behold that priestly hypocrite in his long robes and high- 
sounding titles, devouring widows' houses, and for a pretence 
making long prayers ! Yes, there is a human spider ; by his long 
robes he intimidates the people, and by his long prayers he fasci- 
nates them, till they surrender body, soul, and estate to his dicta- 
tion. Nor was it long before I ran over the whole list of abuses 
in Church and State, by means of which the many are plundered 
and impoverished by the few ; and out of the meshes of these nets 
neither the lawyers nor the legislators appear in much haste to 
deliver the suffering portion of society." — Temperance Chronicle. 

It is hoped that simple people in far towns and villages, 
amongst whom this Chronicle is industriously circulated, will 
not really believe that his Grace the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury has any such ogre appetite, as to devour either widows 
or their houses. But this we know, that if they believe any- 
thing to his disparagement of such a nature, they will have 
been led to vilify the kindest of men. 

This, and other passages, some of which we have already 
noted, make us very suspicions of the precise nature of at 
least some of these temperance missions. We fear their 
agents go about circulating other than temperance max- 
ims. We have taken no pains to cull such passages, they 
come to hand from a few only of these publications. Let 
those who, on the score of simply eradicating drunkenness, 
give them support, and who do not join them in any ulterior 
views, look narrowly into their working. It may be, that 
these extra doings are perpetrated by a few only. It would 
be well for the temperance cause that the labour of the 
societies should be brought back to the strict line of their 
original objects, and leave untouched, by them at least, the 
" abuses in Church and State." 



184 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

We say, seriously, that they are marring a good work : we 
do not deny that they may, if temper and judgment guide 
them, do much good — nor that they have done some ; but, 
by their own showing, there is a frightful evil to be put in 
the other scale. If gentleness, kindness, judicious persuasion 
for the one object, be the rule of their missions, it might, 
indeed, be a labour of love. We are sorry to see too much 
labour of hatred. We fear pledges, which are broken every 
fifty out of a hundred, and in many places ninety per cent. 
This is more than loss of what was gained ; it is the conver- 
sion to the worse. Some one said of ice-cream, that it only 
wanted to be a sin to make it a perfect pleasure ; whoever 
said this, knew something of human nature. The pledge 
does not seem to answer ; are no other means available ? One 
evil in their system might certainly be avoided — by their 
wide vituperation, they alienate the great bulk of society. 
The want of truth, the manifest injustice in these attacks, is 
doing the good cause great mischief. They would make B, 
who never was a drunkard, do penance for A, who is. Why 
hold up B as a rascal, because he takes a glass of wine or 
beer with his dinner ? Because, they would assert., he stops 
the conversion of A. We knew of a tutor who, having two 
pupils, one a boy-nobleman, the other his own nephew, alway s 
lectured and punished his nephew for any fault the other com- 
mitted. The teetotaler is equally irrational, who, if he cannot 
reach the drunkard directly, issues a prohibition to his sober 
neighbour; nay, puts the whole neighbourhood under a ban, for 
the sake of the doubtful conversion of the sot. By perversely 
insisting upon one only cure, they annihilate moderation, that 
very mother of graceful virtues. It is absurd to say there is no 
good in one of the great gifts of Providence — corn, wine, and 
oil. They quote Brande on alcohol in wine ; but forget that 
Brande — we speak from memory — made a statement, that 
wine never did good or harm to some ninety out of a hundred 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 185 

— that of the remaining ten, it did good to a portion, and 
harm to a portion. The harm was probably from excess ; and 
Brande wrote this many years ago. Who now indulges as 
formerly ? Common sense tells every one, not a fanatic, that 
there must be occasions when wine should be medicinally 
given. Ague requires port wine and bark. It would be 
criminal to turn round upon a practitioner, reject his prescrip- 
tion, and incur the crime of suicide. We habitually drink 
water — are abstemious too much, as we are often told. We 
have suffered from influenza, have been weakened, are dis- 
pirited, and in that condition probably more liable to contract 
disease. Our medical adviser has requested that we should 
take pale ale with our dinner, and a couple of glasses of port 
wine after. Shall we be so very silly as to imagine that by so 
doing we are committing a crime, and contradicting, as they 
would make it out, " the Divine will ? ' ' The man who seriously 
so argues is a fool or a fanatic. Eeading the life of an artist 
of great eminence, we were struck with the fact — upsetting 
their theory — that he was seized in the night with spasms, 
and positively died, when a glass of brandy-and- water would 
have saved him. There are thousands of cases where it must 
be administered. What is the practice of our hospitals ? 
Have they neither wine nor spirits ? The Faculty would 
laugh at the prohibition, but would be sadly grieved if they 
thought the general prohibition successful. But, besides 
health, why should we not boldly advocate enjoyment — 
rational enjoyment ? Society meet for what they are made 
to receive and impart — pleasure by social intercourse. Gentle 
exhilaration promotes goodwill, stirs the kindly feelings, 
animates the sluggish or wearied brain ; imagination, wit, and 
judgment are active ; the whole rational man is recruited, 
and the better feelings arise, and the sordid sink. The social 
man, we maintain, is morally better, and the world is better 
for this geniality. Nor would we deny the poor man his 



186 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

similar enjoyment, and wish heartily that every poor man had 
his half- pint or pint of home-brewed. Moderation is the rule 
of all happiness, not a lonely abstinence. Teach all to be 
religious, to be " temperate in all things ; " let them receive, 
as blessings to be thankfully and piously used, the gifts of 
Grod in meats and drinks, and we venture to say the proper 
cure for drunkenness, or excess of any kind, will be applied. 
A people so taught will not be the worse subjects ; they will 
not be disaffected, nor curious to look out for the " spiders 
in Church and State." They will see that contentment is 
their enjoined duty, and one that brings its own blessing. 
Use, and not abuse, should be the law to every rational being, 
and to every thankful being. It is good to be thankful, and, 
in order to be so, it is well to have a few things for which the 
poorest may be especially thankful. Grace before meat, and 
after even wholesome drink, is no evil custom. The pleasure 
for which we may be thankful is not of the nature of a sin. 
Whatever sweetens life improves the man ; whatever sours 
it degrades him. It tends to make him unthankful. He 
looks around hirm sees how bountiful nature is ; he knows 
that, by industry, he can obtain such share as it pleased his 
Maker he should have. We were not intended to sit down 
at a perpetual Barmecide feast. There is more sense, more 
truth, in the admirable bit of satire of Cervantes than catches 
every mind. Sancho Panza was blessed with a good appetite ; 
but the " pledge" of his greatness put a physician behind his 
chair to touch the dishes for removal as fast as they appeared. 
Nature rebelled against the absurdity; his greatness was no- 
thing to him if it did not fill his stomach. And, without doubt, 
the satirist meant to ridicule the theories of over-abstemious- 
ness, and the notions of unwholesomeness of various meats 
and potations. Moderation is the measure both of life and of 
its pleasures. But this serious reasoning is unnecessary ; 
common sense wants it not, and fanaticism has but a deaf ear. 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 187 

The self-conceit, the self-laudation of these society people 
is the remarkable feature of their case. They make the very 
sunshine of the earth : where their footsteps are not, all is 
darkness. They smile satisfaction like angels, they weep 
like angels, not always angels of pity. Even the beauty of 
Spring leaves the country to shine in their May meeting at 
Exeter Hall. Who has not read poetic descriptions of May 
mornings ? Who has not felt the reality ? May-day of the 
fields is but a poor thing, and its little measure of brightness 
and delight is brought up to stand beside the great measure 
of the society's doings on that day, to show how little it is in 
comparison. Even angels come to their May-day, to take a 
new pleasure in being made to " burn with indignation at the 
rod of tyrants," and now " shed torrents of tears over degraded 
and ruined humanity." Indignation and tears together are 
enough to ossify any heart, and turn these visitants, like 
Niobe, to stone. 

" Poor Niobe, she wept so long, she dried 
The fountain of her sorrows, and she died ; 
Her heart for lack of moisture turned to bone 
And petrifying tears converted flesh to stone." 

That the reader may have a "strong impression" of the 
real visions that visit the extra poetic brain of the fine-writ- 
ing abstainers of the Temperance Chronicle, and how sweet 
and bitter tears of pity and burnings of indignation mingle 
together, and excited men and women dissolve into angels, 
and angels take a worse presence than belongs to them, we 
present him with such a description of a May morning that 
we are sure he must confess he never heard the like. 

" The May Meetings and Total Abstinence. — Of all the 
seasons in the year, Spring is the most delightful ; and of all 
months, May is the most enchanting. From a very remote anti- 
quity, May-day has been hailed by all ages and classes in our 
island. But the last half-century has added to the charms of this 



188 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

delightful period. In Britain, May is not merely the month of 
singing-birds and blossoming flowers, but it is also the gala-day of 
philanthropy in our great metropolis ; and to such an extent, that 
London, notwithstanding its darkness and smoke, actually vies 
with the country ; so that thousands are seen leaving their homes, 
and quitting all the charms of rural life and scenery, to be present 
in the great city at its various a n niversaries. It is now become 
the spring-tide of intellect, oratory, benevolence, and pure religion. 
The most gifted preachers are called to the pulpit ; the most 
eloquent speakers are invited to the platform, and are greeted with 
crowded audiences, listening ears, intelligent looks, sympathetic 
hearts, and applauding voices. 

" One of the most lovely sights this side of heaven is that of 
Exeter Hall crowded with devout, religious, and philanthropic 
spirits, all touched with pity for human misery, and responding to 
the thrilling appeals which are addressed to their feelings. Not 
unfrequently we see and hear the Christian orator, who can touch 
every emotion of the soul as skilfully as David played on his lyre, 
and thousands of benevolent minds hurried hither and thither at 
pleasure by the magic spell of his tongue. Xow he makes them 
burn with indignation at the rod of tyrants ; now they shed tor- 
rents of tears over degraded and ruined humanity ; now they stand 
aghast with horror over the yawning gulf : and now they are trans- 
ported with visions of millennium, or enter the gates of paradise 
with the grateful souls whom they have been the humble instru- 
ments of plucking as ' brands from the burning.' TTe have heard 
of David charming away the evil spirit of Saul ; of the eloquent 
strains of a Cicero and Demosthenes ; of the dramatic skill of a 
Garrick and Siddons ; but our May meetings in Exeter Hall throw 
all these into the shade. Angels have witnessed much of human 
excitement, pathos, and inspiration ; but the anniversaries of our 
various philanthropic and religious societies exhibit scenes more 
nearly approaching to the purity and benevolence of the skies than 
anything that our world has developed from the days of Adam 
until now. TVe have a strong impression that the angels of heaven 
look forward to our May meetings with devout pleasure, and attend 
them with deep devotion." 

All this is very great self praise. When we read anything 
so very forced and artificial, it is fair to suspect an object — 
the strain is not kept up for nothing ; a sketch from nature 
of a real true May morning on any part of the earth has no 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 189 

resemblance to it. Funds are to be raised by excitement 
extraordinary, and dreary fanatic intoxication to be brought 
to fever heat; and the purse of Exeter Hall, present and 
future, to be filled. So that after this angelic vision of all 
delight, we have the per contra — the whole world in misery 
(so little good done !) The dissolving view of the happy 
May-day departs, another succeeds. 

" We have before us ten thousand Amazons on fire, and we 
could send the life-boat to them all if we would abandon our bowls, 
but we prefer the gratification of a vile and unnatural lust for 
poison, to the joy of rescuing millions from perdition." 

All that boasted display of talent that did such wonders, 
"gifted preachers" and "eloquent speakers," and even the 
angels, are passed away as an illusion, and we find instead a 
general paralysis, and talent and resources lost. 

" The resources now lost, and the talent paralysed by modera- 
tion and intemperance, would furnish funds and agents sufficient 
to convert and bless the whole world." 

money, money ! vilified as mammon, you are yet in many 
a shape the idol to which all look. 

" What a glorious resolution it would be to make May a teetotal 
month, and present the proceeds of this abstinence on the altar of 
Christian philanthropy. Were all England to come to this deter- 
mination, at least One Million sterling might be easily added to 
our benevolent contributions." 

It may be thought scarcely worth while to show this merely 
bad taste. If it were only bad taste and bad writing, it 
might pass; but it exemplifies the spirit of exaggeration 
which runs through all their publications, and we fear is too 
much alive in all their doings. The exaggeration of self- 
praise, self-confidence, is over and over again to be found in 
equal quantity in the vituperation and condemnation of all 
who dare to oppose them ; nay, such exaggeration of truth, 
that it becomes a puffed-up falsehood. 



190 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

We happened once to look in at a temperance society 
meeting, while an orator was swinging about his arms and 
vociferating with wondrous vehemence. The atmosphere was 
anything but pleasant. The very vulgar man had evidently 
a hold upon his audience, and that passed for irresistible 
argument which was mere intoxicating folly undiluted. 

" I offered it" (spirits), said he, "to a dog, he turned tail upon 
it — to a donkey, he curled up his lips and brayed at it — to a sow, 
and she grunted at it — to a horse, and he snorted at it — to a cow, 
aud she showed her horns at it — and (with a thump and extreme 
vehemence) shall that be good for man which beasts won't touch, 
which a cow horns at, a horse snorts at, a sow grunts at, a donkey 
brays at, and a dog turns tail at ? — Oh, no ! " (with extraordinary 
pathos). 

These meetings are commonly attended by travelling cart- 
loads of reclaimed drunkards, who delight to expose their 
former selves, and glory in a beastly confession. " Such I 
was," said one of them, " wallowing in drunkenness — and 
now see what I am ; I have got into the good ship Temper- 
ance, and there I have set sail to the heavenly breeze, and 
am sailing securely to the shore of a blessed eternity." These 
cart-loads of choice spirits, without drink, far from being 
humbled by a confession of their old iniquities, are lifted up 
beyond measure, and look with contempt, as upon their 
inferiors, on those who never were drunk in their lives. They 
have, in fact, only exchanged one intoxication for another. 
The man for platform admiration is not the man who has 
lived soberly, but he who never went to bed sober in his life. 
The most acceptable virtue is that which jumps with osten- 
tation out of the worst vice. When pride touches a cup of 
cold water with the lips, it receives an inebriating quality 
more potent than ever came from the drunkard's cask, and 
infinitely more poisonous. It becomes worse than Circe's 
cup, for it makes such brutes as we fear can never be charmed 
into humanities again. 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 191 

Their obituaries would be a lamentable catalogue, if we 
could in the least credit them ; but there is exaggeration and 
surmise. We daresay there are many innocent names in this 
their black list of perdition ; at any rate, the publication is a 
piece of cruelty not very becoming to professed philanthropists. 
Where there is no proof of drunkenness, it is merely said, 
" deceased had had liquor." Charity would lead to the con- 
clusion that the draught was harmless. 

Burke once gave a poor woman sixpence, and was reproved 
by a philanthropist — "She will spend it in gin." "Well," 
said Burke, " if a glass of gin will ease a poor woman's heart 
of her sorrow, let her have it." We stay not to discuss the 
moral of the anecdote. But here is a case per contra, cer- 
tainly of a cruel character. To take the clothes from a poor 
creature's shivering flesh and blood, and leave her bare in a 
cold night, is enough to drive her out of her senses. The very 
name, however, induces us to believe the narrative apocryphal, 
and the "recently" aptly conceals the when and the where, 
and furnishes the indulgent reader with a supposed alibi and 
alias. 

" Recently, Rachel Winterbottom, aged 26, jumped out of a 
window and was killed, because her clothes were taken from her 
to prevent her from going out to get more drink." 

We come to a case so extraordinary that we know not 
what to think of it. It would appear that Dickens had 
adopted it into his novel of Bleak House. We insert it as a 
curiosity, and worth a little inquiry. Can it be true ? 

" John Anderson, carrier, Whitemyre, was discovered lying in 
a field by the side of the road leading up from the turnpike a few 
hundred yards east of the Harmuir toll. On examination it 
appeared that the wretched man had been burned to death. He 
had been in Nairn with a load, and was returning home. At 
Auldearn he went into a public-house, whence he was seen coming 
out upon all-fours intoxicated. He passed the Harmuir bar with 
his pipe lighted, sitting on the top of his cart. Turning up the 



192 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

cross-road, he was observed to jump off the cart, and shortly after 
was found with every particle of clothing burned off his body 
except a small bit of his stockings and the back of his coat and 
trousers. What adds to the horror of the case, his eyes were 
literally burned out, and his nose and ears burned off ! It is 
conjectured that a spark from his pipe had ignited the fumes of 
alcohol, and that spontaneous combustion immediately ensued, the 
subtle gas issuing from every orifice of the body, and even through 
the pores of the skin, being kindled on coming into contact with 
the air." 

It is scarcely credible that — 

" Feb. 2. — Thomas Sidings, of Bolton, aged 20 months, died 
under the following circumstances. Its father went home drunk, 
when a warm supper awaited him on the table. He, however, 
kicked the table over, and the hot gravy burned the child so 
severely that death ensued." 

These obituaries are too numerous to follow ; but as they 
are brought out, number after number, with a certain air of 
melancholy pleasure, it is but fair to announce that nothing 
nowadays can exceed the pity for suffering humanity shown 
on many occasions. It is true all pity must be exhibited in 
a teetotal fashion. We doubt if the good Samaritan, who did 
not "pass on the other side" would not come within their 
legitimate censure, and be counted little better than a rascal 
for "pouring in oil and wine " after binding the wounds. If 
members utter Jeremiads rather strong, the power of their 
weeping is as extraordinary. 

" Mr Roberts, of Boston, said that, as a member of a Christian 
church, he had often had to weep, as Jeremiah did, rivers of tears 
over men who had fallen from God through strong drink. But 
still he was a little-drop man, and had an enormous liking for 
' home-brewed.' At length, fifteen years ago, for the sake of 
example, he signed the pledge." 

Confessing drunkards pour forth floods of commiserating 
eloquence. They who now abhor the grape and the malt, 
and find all sour, water all the miseries of mankind with their 
tears. " Mr Sowerbutts" weeps and entreats, " Mr Swindle- 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 193 

hurst" is as potent, and "Mr Witty" is graphic upon the 
miseries of drink. All are excited alternately by their sor- 
rows and their indignation ; whole meetings throw out no 
inconsiderable stream of both ; nor is there any lack either of 
fuel or water to make the current perpetual. Kepose is a 
crime ; yet we venture to say that this living upon excite- 
ment is of the nature of intoxication, and is injurious to the 
health of the mind, if not of the body. Social ties are as 
nothing in the heats of controversy ; and they who are 
nearest and dearest are too often the first victims to this 
fanatic intoxication. A case has been made known to us 
of a friendship of years having been broken, and that by pro- 
fessors of universal peace, by a controversy on the sacra- 
mental wine. That is still, we learn, a bone of contention 
among the initiated. It is surprising, for nothing seems 
more clear. One party assert that the instituted wine was 
unfermented — that our Lord spake of that only, converted 
water into that only. The other party cannot go so far as 
that, yet are puzzled ; and no wonder, for the usual practice 
tells unquestionably against the total abstinence pledge; and 
we have shown what a stern total abstinence man demands 
and obtains. In the course of this controversy, wine of the 
Passover has been obtained from a high-priest of the Jews, 
and analysed, and found to contain, out of twenty-four 
ounces, twenty-four drachms of rectified spirit. It is with 
pain we subjoin the profane and evasive remarks upon this, 
by the editor of the British Temperance Advocate. 

" We were aware of these facts, which simply show that the 
post-Christian Jews have used both kinds of wine, as the pre- 
Christian ones probably did also. It is for the opponent to show 
(who needs the supposed fact to justify his custom) that Christ 
used the intoxicating and fermented wine, rather than the unfer- 
mented and 'pare '■fruit of the vine' (which alcoholic wine is not). 
The law prohibits ferment and fermented things generally. The 
later Jews limited the law, and restricted it to the ferment of 

N 



194 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

corn* making a fiction that the juice of grapes did not ferment ! ! ! 
It is for the opponent again to show that Christ fell into this 
absurd mistake, and made a distinction without a difference. If 
he did not, then he must have belonged to that school of Jews 
who observed the Passover in the pure product of the vine. — Ed." 

The words we have marked in italics are indecent and 
profane ; the controversy itself simply silly. One or two 
queries we should think would suffice to settle the matter. 
If the wine was unfermented, why was that made at the 
marriage of Cana considered old, and the best? What is 
the meaning of new wine and old bottles, and the bottles 
bursting ? It is stranger still that this passage should have 
been overlooked : " John the Baptist came neither eating- 
bread nor drinking wine, and ye say, He hath a deviL The 
Son of Man is come eating and drinking, and ye say, Behold 
a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans 
and sinners." Alas ! it is manifest the pharisaical spirit is 
not quenched. There are Pharisees still hard to please. 
There is still the ringer of scorn, derision, and condemnation, 
pointed at harmless people, and the reproach, if not of " glut- 
ton," of wine-bibber. 

The writers of these temperance tracts profess to be great 
lovers of liberty ; they are not idle as politicians. On the 
late proposal to repeal half the malt-tax, they show their 
political views of liberty and of law. They would have 
property pay all taxes — that is, they would confiscate. They 
tell us that every man is to be his own judge as to a law, yet 
they themselves look to a strength to force Parliaments to 
make laws very stringent, of obedience to which none but 
themselves shall be judges. 

" We will ask them what they mean by liberty. They will tell 
us, the right of every man to earn his own living, and to gratify 

* The modern Jews are careful about the PassoTer wine, lest "corn-spirit " 
should be put into it, as with the adulterated wines of commerce. 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 195 

his own wishes in any way he pleases, so long as he does not break 
the law. We will reply that the law may be wrong ; and that 
true liberty consists rather in every man's following his own busi- 
ness or his own pleasure in any way he likes, so long as he does 
not interfere with the property, the person, and the enjoyments 
of his fellow-men Teetotallers do not require work- 
houses, gaols, and lunatic asylums ; all evidence shows that these 
are required by the victims of strong drink ; and shall hard- 
working men be robbed of their last shilling in order to pay 
poor-rates and county and burgh rates for such l The lovers of 
liberty and fair play must look at the other side of the question." 

Accordingly, they seriously propose that all teetotallers 
shall be exempt from most taxes. They are to have nothing 
to do with poor-rates, concluding that they are all the result 
of intoxication. 

" Shall our honest labourer, artisan, and mechanic, be prevented 
from enjoying the fruits of their toil because some of their neigh- 
bours choose to gratify their drinking propensities, and because 
other neighbours choose to live by selling the drink ? They that 
sell and they that drink ought to bear the consequences of 
their conduct ; whereas, as the law now is, the whole weight of 
.£7,000,000 a-year of poor-rates, and of endless other charges for 
trials of offenders, for convict ships and penal settlements, falls 
upon the innocent. No ! true liberty for all, and justice to all, 
will not permit men to make their gain and follow their pleasure 
by endangering the others." 

Thus it should seem their vehement exaggeration, tyran- 
nical, if they could enforce it, runs through their whole 
system, even into politics ; they would subject the kingdom 
to them, and, under the banners of temperance, brea.k forth 
as teetotaller Jack Cades. Not that they are of one mind in 
anything; and, give them rule, their civil war would be 
hideous. Divisions and subdivisions would — and there are 
strong indications of it — breed fearful strife. They cannot 
do good without spite. Thus they have their controversies 
— their jealousies. Strange to say, one of these jealousies is 
directed against Sabbath schools. They are mightily vexed 



196 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

that they cannot subdue them. They establish their " Bands 
of Hope," make processions for children, coax them, make 
them awfully conceited, but gain few proselytes. They 
accordingly issue a frightful account of the doings of 
Sabbath schools. We have a few pages before us, entitled 
" Voices from Prisons and Penitentiaries, especially ad- 
dressed to Patrons and Teachers of Sabbath Schools." It 
chiefly consists of the experience of Mr T. B. Smithies, 
" a zealous and efficient Sabbath-school teacher." It will 
astonish the reader, perhaps, not a little to learn, if he trusts 
to this experience, that notwithstanding all the zeal to work 
good, the effect has been the most complete success — in 
making drunkards. Where do the large number of criminals 
come from who crowd our prisons ? Alas ! from these 
Sunday and Sabbath schools. This is no idle conjecture, no 
surmise of ours, no tampering with documents, no cooking 
statistics on our part. The evidence is plain ; it speaks for 
itself; it is, as we said, the result of Mr Smithies' experience, 
the zealous Sabbath- school teacher ; and we presume he is 
the author of the few pages before us. We must, however, 
warn the reader not to believe that all Sunday schools are 
included in the list of these drunkard manufactories — we 
have plain evidence that those of the Church of England are 
not in the number. They belong to the various denomina- 
tions of Dissent; and we would also in charity take the 
whole account with some drawback, and not determine that 
all are drunkards, in our sense of the word, who are put 
down as such. Yet there remains enough to bring these 
Sabbath schools seriously under consideration, that we may 
view the actual working of a system that has so wide a 
sway. Mr Byewater Smithies seems to be a very amiable 
man — perhaps a little credulous, a little simple, sufficiently 
so to be not a little imposed upon, especially when the 
pathetic steam can be got up to a sufficient height. We see 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 197 

an example of this in the very first scene in which he is 
introduced to us, or to which he introduces the reader. 

" In the year 1847, being then in York, where till recently he 
resided, he had occasion to visit the York city gaol. On engaging 
in conversation with some of the prisoners, eight in number, he 
recognised, to his deep regret, two who had formerly been fellow 
Sunday-school teachers, and two others who had long been scholars 
in two of the York Sunday schools, with which he was acquainted. 
They had not conversed long before every heart seemed affected, 
and tears of sorrow were seen falling down the cheeks. It was 
an affecting interview ; and the subdued expression of thanks to 
Mr S. for his visit, which they uttered while shaking hands 
through the iron rails, made a deep impression upon his mind. 
From subsequent inquiries, he found that, of the four individuals 
above named, two had been committed in consequence of public- 
house broils, and the other two for committing robberies whilst 
under the influence of strong drink." 

In this sentimental quintette, of which Mr Smithies was 
the Coryphaeus of lamentation, he exhibited his power of 
drawing tears, ad libitum, from broilers and picklocks. Yet 
this is not very surprising — such characters are practised 
hands at practical jokes ; and it may fairly be suspected 
that they were playing upon the experienced Sabbath-school 
teacher's simplicity. It is more charitable to view the scene 
as a little not uncommon prison pastime, than add to the 
other guilt of the prisoners a deep hypocrisy. Virtues in 
the breasts of criminals being an unexhausted stock, never 
diminished by daily use, are ready to be called up, when 
worth while, either for display or for professional practice. 
When they are let out, like the winds from the cave of 
iEolus, they rush in profusion — the more from having been 
so long pent. Quite unused to an easy passage, they burst 
out with a deluge, and never know when to stop. But 
their vices are a concentrated . essence, and bear but one 
name ; and, as they cannot conceal it, they make a great 
merit of confessing it, and think to hide the many vices 



198 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

under one head, and conceal a multiplicity by putting forth 
the effect for the cause. They make the least the greatest 
of their offences, and the scapegoat and apology for them 
all. This is an old trick — this shifting off personal respon- 
sibility. We know who is that evil one who has suggested 
it to a class of religionists, and all culprits are too ready 
to receive it for the deception of themselves and others. 
Every criminal sets up an alias and an alibi in his own 
person. " I was not in my senses when I did it." " I was 
overtaken with drink, and I did it." "I had been drinking, 
and did not know what I was about; in fact" — and here 
comes the climax — " i" was not myself." Thus the great 
burthen of responsibility is adroitly shifted off, and hypo- 
critical shame assumes the graces of innocence, that true re- 
pentance denies and knows not. Thus drunkenness becomes 
rather the excuse for vices, than accepted as a vice itself. 
It is brutal enough " to put an enemy in the mouth to steal 
away the brains ; " but to ascribe all the wickedness in the 
world to that one vice, is to come to a false conclusion. 
Doubtless it is often the origin, and often the result, of crime. 
Father Mathew on one occasion said that he had administered 
the pledge to hundreds of thousands when drunk. They 
came determined to give up their vice ; but as they would, 
in the goodness of their hearts, part friends, they first took 
a parting glass, and a good one. This was reversing the 
appeal "from Philip drunk to Philip sober;" it was from 
Philip sober to Philip drunk. But, to return to Mr Byewater 
Smithies. " On conversing with them, he found, to his 
astonishment and grief, that fifteen out of the seventeen had 
been scholars in Sunday schools connected with almost every 
religious denomination." On carefully going through the 
cases of the fifteen who had been scholars in Sunday schools, 
" ten had committed crimes for which they were about to be 
transported ; of course, while under the influence of strong 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 199 

liquor." " In one ward, out of fourteen persons, thirteen 
had been Sunday scholars ; in another, out of eleven, nine 
had been Sunday scholars. In a third ward, out of thir- 
teen persons, ten had been Sunday scholars, and two of them 
Sunday-school teachers/' This is the result of an extensive 
inquiry. It appears that out of 10,361 inmates of the 
principal prisons and penitentiaries of our country, not fewer 
than 6572 previously received instruction in Sunday schools. 
A "Keverend Professor Finney," at the Tabernacle, Moor- 
fields, came to the conclusion that, of the inmates in a 
great number of prisons and penitentiaries in this country, 
more than two-thirds of the males, and more than three- 
fourths of the females, had been in Sabbath schools. At 
Glasgow assizes, " out of seventy-one criminals, sixty-two 
had been connected with Sabbath schools." The catalogue 
is without end. Let us hear the testimony of a master of a 
school : " The master of a large day-school in the vicinity of 
the metropolis stated, a few years ago, that on examining a 
roll containing names of a hundred pupils, he ascertained, 
on inquiry, that ninety-one of them had become drunkards." 
" Of sixty scholars in a Sabbath school, thirty were found to 
have been ruined through drink." In matriculating at the 
University of Oxford, it is enjoined that the academicians 
shall not encourage Ipswich — we never knew why — as, if 
there was an old establishment there, it has perished ; but 
these statistics, from which we are making extracts, supply 
a sufficient reason. The teaching must be very bad, and 
the Ipswichians very abominable ; for of them it is said, 
" out of fifteen young men professing piety, and teachers in 
the Sabbath school, nine were ruined through drink." 

An aged Sabbath- school teacher has the courage to 
examine " unfortunate females," and finds them to have 
been scholars. 

We have observed that temperance and teetotal societies 



200 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

are very strenuous to introduce music wherever they can, 
and especially among the young. The propriety of the songs 
is very questionable, and we have given one specimen. 
Sometimes popular tunes are applied to hymns — a practice 
of doubtful good, for the young mind makes an amalgamation 
of both sets of words, and a tertium quid between piety and 
something worse confounds decent distinctions. How far 
this music system is of itself an intoxication of its own kind, 
and easily slips into an intoxication of another kind, does 
not as yet seem to have engaged the attention of the societies. 
It may be worth while to make some inquiry on this subject. 

" A few months ago a member of committee visited one of the 
singing saloons in Rochdale, and on a Saturday evening, about 
eleven o'clock, he observed about sixteen boys and girls, seated at 
a table in front of the stage ; several of the lads had long pipes, 
each with a glass or jug containing intoxicating liquor, and no less 
than fourteen of the number were members of Bible classes in our 
different Sunday schools. There they sat, listening to the most 
obscene songs, witnessing scenes of the most immoral kind, and 
spending the interval in swallowing liquid fire. It is added : 
' These sinks of iniquity are thronged with old Sunday scholars, 
especially on Sabbath evenings, and not unfrequently until twelve 
o'clock.' Still further it is said : ' The appalling results of the 
drinking system are not wholly confined to the children in our 
schools ; many a promising teacher has fallen a victim.' " 

Let us see how the hymns fare, and if they are always 
piously received, remembered, or used — if they are sure to 
be accompanied by religious associations — if they may not 
be overdone, and the singers rather practised to receive than 
to allay an excitement, do not merge from one fever into 
another, and of a more dangerous character. Here is an 
account of this music-piety : — 

" An eye-witness states : ' Three youths, members of Bible 
classes, were stopped near the Eagle Tavern, City Road, and 
rebuked for boisterously singing, while in a state of partial intoxi- 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 201 

cation. They were singing a hymn, which they had been practis- 
ing for singing on some public occasion ; the burden of the hymn 
was, 

' There is a happy land, far, far away ! ' 

Another eye-witness declares that he saw five boys and girls, all 
under fifteen years of age, who were romping through a street, 
leading out of the City Road, one Sabbath evening, and singing 
the well-known lines : — 

' Holy children will be there, 
Who have sought the Lord by prayer, 
From every Sabbath school. 
Oh, that will be joyful,' &c. 

Upon inquiring, he found that they had been at a Sabbath school 
twice that day, that they were at a place of worship in the even- 
ing, on leaving which, on their way home, they had turned into 
the ' Eagle,' and taken some mixed liquor ! " 

" Practising for singing on some public occasion." Here is 
the mischief ! We have noticed in the "Reports" the con- 
stant display-processions of children with banners — young 
" Bands of Hope" — walking through crowded thoroughfares, 
with music before them, assuming all the consequence of 
their position, as the " observed of all observers " — drinking- 
in excitement and self- approbation in the very air they breathe 
— little paragons of all that is good, satisfied only when they 
attract all eyes to them. What is the natural tendency? 
They must either believe they have been converted into 
little angels on earth, or believe it not : in either case they 
are the worse. Their natures will rebel — will tell them 
they are acting a lie. They must be fed with excitement, 
than which nothing is more dangerous to young persons. 
These children had been at a Sabbath school twice that day, 
and at a place of worship in the evening, on leaving which, 
on their way home, they had turned into the "Eagle," and 
taken some "mixed liquor." This is no more than any 
person of common sense might have expected. How vapid 



202 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

must be the cold-water draught of duty at their homes — 
they, little angels of the procession, in homes where little 
applause may receive them. It is difficult for " holy chil- 
dren" to drop down from their ecstasies into a flat and dull 
sobriety. They have been singing of soaring all day in the 
presence of thousands into regions of beatification, their 
proper home. It is no wonder if, in their way to their 
ungratifying homes, they turn in to borrow wings from the 
"Eagle," that they may, in their hymn phrase, "go to 
glory." After this, the following apologetic inconsistency 
will come upon the reader with surprise. The bit of poetry, 
perhaps, often sung by these holy children, must have ex- 
alted them above all their more homely relations as "worthier 
to fill the breath of fame." 

" Let none who listen to these ' Voices' imagine for one moment 
that they have been uttered or recorded from anything like a 
desire to depreciate Sabbath schools in the estimation of their 
supporters. Depreciate them ! No. Those who have collected 
this evidenee have laboured too long and too zealously in the cause 
of Sabbath schools to be suspected of any such desire. 

' The Sabbath School ! Earth has no name 
Worthier to fill the breath of fame ; 
The untold blessings it hath shed 
Shall be revealed when worlds are fled ! ' " 

For a moment we leave the children in their drunken 
ecstatics, and mount a little higher. " Mr James Teare," 
whose very name may draw sympathetic tears from all who 
love weeping, has given astounding information — and we are 
told he had abundant opportunities of collecting it — " that 
the number of deacons and Sunday-school superintendents and 
teachers engaged in the traffic of strong drink in this country is 
almost incredible" 

Worse and worse : — 

" A school connected with one of our most respectable congre- 
gations in the country, has a wine and brandy merchant for its 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 203 

superintendent ; another of its superintendents is connected with, 
the same firm ; another of its most influential teachers is a brewer ; 
and for many years past the children have been treated with wine 
at their annual gathering." 

It is surprising that any man daring to sell wine or 
spirits should venture into these schools without fear of 
being torn to pieces ; but we forget that the teetotallers 
have not yet all these schools under their control. Nor can 
the society members as yet venture upon calling on the police 
to eject these, we dare say, very respectable gentlemen. 
They might, however, as well not give wine to the children at 
their annual gatherings. But we may go a little higher still. 
The Temperance Advocate hints at something not quite decent 
having taken place at an ordination in Willis's Booms. 

" Strong Drink at Ordinations. — It is a sign that temperance 
reformers have not done their work, when strong drink is intro- 
duced at ordinations. Cannot our ministers and deacons see the 
total incongruity of these things with the solemn ceremony in 
which they take part % Mr George Miller, of London, has made 
a timely exposure of what recently took place at Willis's Booms 
on the ordination of an assistant minister of Craven Chapel ; and 
we cannot but think that those who used intoxicating drink on 
that occasion, must feel ashamed of their practice when they read 
our friend's faithful protest. He has done them friendly service." 

But let us go back to the children ; we love them best, the 
innocent victims. Here is a short account of one of their 
processions : — 

"The procession was marshalled in order shortly after one 
o'clock, the adult members of the various temperance societies 
taking the lead, preceded by a brass band, and a beautiful banner, 
inscribed, ' Hull Temperance League,' ( United we Conquer ;' then 
followed another band in their midst, and another banner, inscribed, 
' Sixty-five millions sterling are expended, and eight million 
quarters of corn destroyed every year, to satisfy the drunken ap- 
petite of Englishmen.' Next came the Band of Hope, a long 
procession of little teetotal boys and girls, numbering perhaps 
between five and six hundred ; and a picturesque sight they pre- 



204 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

sented, carrying in their hands little gilt banners of every colour, 
inscribed with pretty little temperance mottoes, such as ' Train up 
a child in the way he should go/ &c. One tired-looking little fellow 
carried a banner with the motto, ' Be not weary in well-doing ;' 
and another, who could scarcely totter, bore a flag inscribed, l Stand 
firm.' The Band of Hope was headed and followed by a band of 
music, and behind it a large spreading banner of ominous hue, on 
the blackened surface of which was inscribed, in letters of white, 
the pointed lesson to the moralist, ' Sixty thousand drunkards 
die every year ; ' and on went the Band of Hope, with their gay 
little flags, equalled in brightness only by their own beaming coun- 
tenances ; and as the procession faded into the distance, still the 
black banner, with its terrible motto, loomed after them, suggest- 
ing, appropriately enough, that if sixty thousand drunkards die 
every year, it were well indeed to ' Train up a child in the way it 
should go.' " 

This is not half the procession account. They were exceed- 
ingly happy, notwithstanding the presence of the black 
banner. Even the " tired little fellow" did not dare to be 
" wearied in well-doing," though it was rather cruel, for the 
sake of the wit of the thing, to give the motto-banner to a 
tired-looking little fellow — and " stand firm" to a child who 
could scarcely totter. We can only suppose the processional 
arrangements were made by the indefatigable " Mr Witty" 

We remember a little more than a year ago reading an 
an account of one of these teetotal gatherings at St Martin's 
Hall, of which we took a note at the time. We thought the 
power of water in producing intoxication quite wonderful, and 
its twofold effect of love and hatred. It made Mr Livesly 
lively beyond measure in the vituperative vein, ferociously 
exhilarated to make wordy assault upon the clergy in par- 
ticular, that is, not of the " denominations." He was followed 
by our Mend Mr Swindlekurst, of trustworthy name, who, on 
the occasion, advertised a new firm, and himself as one of the 
company, "The Polishers and Smoothers of People for a 
better world." A song in Welsh greeted him when he pro- 
fanely compared himself to John the Baptist ; the song, like 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 205 

an incantation, brought up from the very charnel-house of 
drunkenness one Kobert Charnley, and J, Cattrel. But as 
these worthies of the old pot and tankard were about to vent 
the "secrets of their prison-house," the meeting grew impa- 
tient, and the temperance water-drinkers broke out into the 
utmost extravagance of vituperative intoxication upon the 
press and the clergy. Voices were tumultuous, till a sweet 
singer thought to allay it by the charm of music. We do not 
suppose he knew much about Socrates, though he did what 
that sage recommended in the Symposium. " Since we are 
in such a hurry," said he, "to speak altogether at once, let 
us sing together." The intemperate temperance fever was 
thus for a while allayed ; but it broke out again, so that the 
prudent chairman dissolved the meeting at the inebriate hour 
of half-past ten. " There is nothing like water," said Pindar ; 
but he did not keep closely to his text, for he launched off to 
the praise of something he liked better. So violent are these 
water-drinkers and wine-haters, that one might almost be 
induced to think a little wine, not only good for "the stomach's 
sake," but to keep down to a sober gravity and decency that 
very rude state of animal spirits which keeps water-drinkers 
in perpetual irritation. Wisely did Cato tinge his severe 
forehead with wine. 

We want to have a word or two more to say about these 
Sunday and Sabbath schools. The astonished Mr Smithies 



" These are appalling facts. And when it is thus found that 
so large a proportion of young men and women, who have been 
convicted of crimes for which they were consigned to prisons, or 
placed in penitentiaries, were once scholars in Sabbath schools, the 
question naturally arises, what is the cause of this ? Upon pur- 
suing the inquiry, it has been almost uniformly found that that 
which is the most prolific source of crime in this country, namely, 
the use of intoxicating liquors, has been the cause of so many 
Sabbath-school scholars becoming criminals." 



206 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

It is not surprising if he is led to the following conclu- 
sions, — 

" Having been officially engaged for many years in Sabbath 
schools, the above painful fact has led me to fear that there is 
some flagrant deficiency in our Sabbath-school tuition ; and I feel 
the importance of bringing the subject under the serious consider- 
ation of my fellow-labourers, with a view to the adoption of more 
efficient practical steps for the prevention of crime amongst those 
children who are now being taught in Sunday schools." 

The main question, then, is, What is this deficiency ? It 
should seem the children are taught hyums — to put on reli- 
gious ecstasies — to abhor, not so much wickedness, as the 
wicked all around them, who are condemned and excluded 
from their privileges. They are taught everything it seems, 
but what they should be taught — real bona fide, substantial, 
wholesome temperance. Mr Smithies asks the scholar 
criminals if their teachers had never warned them against 
drinking. " He invariably received the same answer, ' No, 
sir' " — (rather extraordinary, considering all these processions, 
the awful black banner, and the several mottoes : but let 
that pass). He can do no otherwise than conclude that there 
is " some flagrant deficiency in our Sabbath-school tuition" Mr 
Smithies has proved his case. He is no misanthropist. He 
would not make out a bad case if he could help it ; — no man 
is endowed with more tenderness, especially on the side of 
pious sentimentalism. He loves no liquor so well as the 
tears of sinners. There are persons who bestow a tenderness 
on criminals, which suffering innocence cannot obtain. It 
does not reach the genuine excitement point. With him an 
Irish boy condemned to transportation, is " a poor Irish boy." 
But of one thing he is sure : the present system of Sunday 
and Sabbath schools has but one efficiency — that of making 
drunkards. True, he burns with zeal ; but he tries his cor- 
rective virtue in the cool, and conviction comes. It was in 
a frigid atmosphere — the volcano of his breast, like Hecla, 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 207 

loved the icy regions — it was " on the cold flags, in one of 
the cells in York Castle," the resolve and " solemn promise " 
came. He rushed forth with a determination, like Hecla, to 
throw rip everything — all moderation, all misnamed tem- 
perance ; to reduce himself to the cinders and ashes of total 
abstinence ; to forsake teaching, to be " temperate in all 
things," and substitute to be temperate in nothing. To 
descend to a lower level — we take his account — there is some 
deficiency. What is it ? — where is it ? Our own observation, 
aided by Mr Byewater Smithies' experience, may throw some 
light on this subject. Thus, then, we venture. We fear that 
there has been a total abstinence of that wholesome teaching 
of duties to which young minds should be trained — that the 
feelings are made everything — that there is too marked a 
distinction between being good "" God-ward " and good man- 
ward. There is abundance of intoxication in the world, with 
a total abstinence from spirituous drink. We fear not to 
say, that a system of excitement, and not the least dangerous 
— of quasi-religious excitement, may sow mischief in the 
mental and bodily growth of youth, When children are 
encouraged to indulge in ecstatic visions of being caught 
up in a dreamy bewilderment into the heavens, and commune 
there, with holy children like themselves, the descent to earth, 
and the daily irksome duties and homely occupations, is too 
irksome to be steadily pursued. They must be discouraged, 
and become incapable of submitting to other people's tem- 
pers, and of regulating their own. But this is on the suppo- 
sition that they are capable of this spiritual realisation. But 
who, knowing anything of the world, will say that they are, 
for a continuance, or for any practical religious good ? Pride 
and self-sufficiency take place of humility and obedience, and 
they are likely to grow up out of humour with all the actuali- 
ties of life. It is mischievous, in the highest degree, that 
these gentlemen of Temperance and Teetotal Societies should 



208 TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

pounce upon children, for the sake of the picturesque (which 
they speak of) in their processions, to act the parts of smirk- 
ing sentiment alism, to strut before the admiring crowds as 
"holy children; " teaching them, too, to perk in piety, and 
prate familiarly of crowns that aged and long-suffering saints 
and martyrs have shrunk from claiming. Professing -piety 
scholars either feel or don't feel the ecstatic hymns they are 
taught : if they do, how shall the excitement be kept up with 
any hope of safety to themselves? if they do not, they are learn- 
ing the language of habitual hypocrisy, which will very easily 
slide into their morals and manners. They will, of themselves, 
seek how to keep up the steam. Intoxication of some kind 
or other must be had ; for the collapse, the cold fit, is a misery 
not to be borne. There is an "Eagle Tavern" by every 
road, and the devil is at hand to shift the music or the words, 
to substitute the song for the hymn, and too probably retain 
the hymn, and suggest the blasphemy. Excitement may be 
drawn out of any tune. But is there no deficiency in moral 
teaching ? Is there no preference given to quasi-religious 
feelings over moral duties ? Such, then, are the Sunday and 
Sabbath schools, of which Mr Byewater Smithies gives so 
lamentable an account. But they are not all the Sunday and 
Sabbath schools in the country ; and we earnestly entreat all 
managers of schools not to allow their scholars to be drawn 
into this temperance intemperate vortex ; and, with this 
object, we have taken some pains to lay open to them this mani- 
fest source of irredeemable evil. We do not mean, be it clearly 
understood, to say a word in disparagement of Sunday and 
Sabbath-school teaching as a system. The very promise of 
all good that is in them, has not, it should seem, escaped 
the eye of Him who sowed tares among the wheat. We do 
not even condemn the schools that Mr Smithies has con- 
demned, for all the sins he lays to their charge. We know 
too well, to be short of an absolute teetotaller, is, with such 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 209 

as Mr Smithies, to be given over to drunkenness. We 
would fain keep warm in our hearts a little more charity for 
these schools than Mr Smithies would allow us. Nor let it 
be supposed that we object to temperance societies, such as 
they may be, and as some possibly are — we would do our 
utmost to suppress drunkenness. Nay, we (always meaning, 
by this usual plural, the individual writer) belong ourselves 
to a Temperance Society — be not surprised, good reader — 
yes ! a Temperance Society, and, as we believe, the best in 
the kingdom — The Church of England. There is no teach- 
ing there, in her old-fashioned beautiful Catechism, of a reli- 
gion that is of a Babel- confusion of tongues, intermingled 
with notions of " kingcraft and priestcraft," and controversial 
hatreds, in place of charity and patient love. Where that 
catechism is taught, scholars cannot say they are not warned 
against drunkenness. It does not, it is true, teach total 
abstinence from anything, but from evil. It is a safeguard, 
in education, as far as teaching can go, against drunkenness, 
against every vice, against every crime. Mr Smithies ex- 
hibits a frightful list of thieves and drunkards, and probably 
still more guilty criminals, and he complains of a deficiency 
in the mode of tuition in the Sunday and Sabbath schools 
which have come under his experience. We would recom- 
mend him to try our schools. Drunkards and thieves there 
will be, no doubt, in spite of the Catechism ; but no one can 
say that it does not teach to abstain from sins of every kind. 
For, besides the Ten Commandments, the duty to God, and 
duty to one's neighbour, as inculcated in them, is simply ex- 
plained, as it is said, so as " to be understanded by children 
and common people." Let us direct Mr Smithies' and other 
folk's attention to a few words only from the Catechism, on 
our duty to our neighbour, and let him consider if the child's 
answers be not a better teaching than pride-making ecstasies 
and feverish feelings. As to " duty to my neighbour," the 



210 TEMPEKANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 

child thus answers : "To order myself lowly and reverently 
to all my betters. To hurt nobody by word nor deed. To 
be true and just in all my dealings. To bear no malice nor 
hatred in my heart. To keep my hands from picking and 
stealing, and my tongue from evil- speaking, lying, and 
slandering. To keep my body in temperance, soberness, 
and chastity. Not to covet nor desire other men's goods, 
but to learn and labour truly to get mine own living, and to 
do my duty in that state of life unto which it shall please 
God to call me." In teaching their duty towards God, there 
are no ecstasies enjoined. All must have what they can 
digest to their own health. The plain answers to the plain 
questions of the Catechism are far better than hymns, which 
lift up the little souls far above their " ordering themselves 
lowly and reverently." Such "holy children" as Mr Smithies 
has described to us are not likely to acknowledge any to be 
their " betters." Nowadays a child is not allowed to " think 
as a child." He must have " strong meats " when he should 
have "milk for babes." He must have visions of angel-robes 
and angel- wings, and wake out of his dream to put on rags 
and loathe them ; and thus will he grow up into a sour dis- 
content of that " state of life to which it has pleased God to 
call him." 

We most seriously and earnestly, nay, solemnly, warn all 
people against this new tuition as a substitute for the old. 
No good can come of it ; and we entreat the very societies 
on whose doings we have so freely commented, to take a 
calm review of their own proceedings, and not to think every 
one an enemy who tells them a truth, however severely, or 
however unpalatable to them. It is painful, we know, to be 
brought to a conviction that we have worse than wasted 
time in error — that we have been practically, while meaning 
well, promoting evil. But it is a condition of our natural 
infirmity; let not a mote of that infirmity so enlarge itself in 
the moral eye, that it shall no longer see truth, plain and 



TEMPERANCE AND TEETOTAL SOCIETIES. 211 

visible to every other eye. We have thought it our impera- 
tive duty to employ every argument, and use every vein, of 
seriousness or of ridicule. A great evil is to be put down, 
and we unhesitatingly use every legitimate weapon in the 
warfare. We contend not for a moment against the good 
the societies do, but against the manifest evils which fear- 
fully preponderate over the good. We join them fully in any 
proper appeals to the Government. Beer-houses and gin- 
palaces, as they are now, are moral pest-houses : they want 
severe regulation. We know not how to think decently of 
this our Government, while notorious haunts of thieves, 
prostitutes, murderers, are almost protected, and brutalities 
increase. The police reports make up a history of disgrace 
to any Government. The fact is, the whole law of punish- 
ment has been relaxed. We carry notions of liberty to an 
absurdity — we would almost say, to a crime. Such brutes 
as appear in the police reports, ought to be — nor are we 
ashamed to write the word — slaves : they put themselves 
out of humanity's pale. Culprits of almost all descriptions 
are cowards. The old bodily punishments were not alto- 
gether unsalutary — at least, they tended to keep society in 
some safety. When we read of the " garotte " in the streets 
— the stabbings, the cruel mutilations, butcheries some- 
times short of death, and sometimes not, and are certain that 
the names and haunts of these monsters who commit the 
savagery are well known, and see the comparative impunity 
that meets them — we feel that something is wanted in our 
home government. Here, at least, we have a right to de- 
mand protection. Beer-houses and gin-palaces foster these 
scoundrels and their crimes, without doubt: not that they 
are the drunkards ; the drunkards are their victims, and en- 
ticed into these dens. Your thorough villain is a cool man ; 
he goes unintoxicated to his work. Let Temperance Socie- 
ties wisely direct their movements, and they shall have our 
best wishes and support. 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES-SWIFT. 

[OCTOBER 1853.] 

A good librarian, as well acquainted with the insides of 
books as the outsides, made the other day this shrewd obser- 
vation — that in his experience every third work he took up 
was defective, either in the title or the first sentence. 
"What," he continued, "for example, is the meaning of the 
word ' humourist ? ' By what authority is it applied to a 
writer ? — is it not misapplied to a wit ? unless it be meant to 
degrade him. ' The wit,' says Addison in the Spectator, 
' sinks imperceptibly into a humourist.' A humourist is one 
whose conduct, whose ways, are eccentric, ' his actions 
seldom directed by reason and the nature of things,' says 
Watts. It is best the world should be confined according 
to our dictionaries, to actions, not extended to authorship. 
The title of Mr Thackeray's Lectures would lead a lover of 
plain English to expect narratives of eccentricities taken from 
real life, and perhaps from the acted buffooneries of itinerant 
boards, the dominion of Mr Punch's dynasty — like other 
dynasties in this age of presumed matter of fact, becoming a 
' dissolving view.' " Mr Thackeray's English is generally 
so good, so perfectly to be understood, of such acceptable 
circulating coinage, that we are surprised at this mistake in 
the title of his book. Montaigne would head his chapters 



thackeray's lectures — swift. 213 

with any title — as we believe he ushered in one as "On 
Coach-horses " — and said nothing about them ; and we 
readily admit that the privilege of " Every Man in his 
Humour" maybe a fair excuse for the author of English 
Humourists of the Eighteenth Century. 

We wish we could say that this little volume were unobjec- 
tionable in every other respect — but we cannot. We do not 
see in it a fair, honest, truth- searching and truth- declaring 
spirit ; yet the style is so captivating, so insinuating in its 
deceiving plainness, so suggestive of every evil in its simpli- 
city, so alluring onward, even when the passages we have 
read have left an unpleasant impression, that it is impossible 
to lay down the book, though we fear to proceed. The reader 
may be like to the poor bird under the known fascination : 
he never loses sight of the glittering eye — but it looks, even 
in its confident gaiety, too much like that which charms, and 
delights in, a victim. We did not, it is true, expect from 
the author of Vanity Fair any flattering pictures of men and 
manners, nor of the world at large, of any age ; but we were 
not prepared for his so strongly expressed dislike and con- 
demnation of other people's misanthropy as these pages 
exhibit, particularly in his character of Swift. 

And here we think we have a right to protest against 
Biographical Lectures. It is hardly possible for a lecturer 
to be fair to his subject. He has an audience to court and 
to please — to put in good-humour with themselves — to be 
flattered into a belief of their own goodness, by a bad por- 
traiture of the eminent of the earth. He has to dig out the 
virtues from the grave to show what vices cling to them — 
how they looked when exhumed in their corruption. Praise 
is seldom piquant — commonplace is wearisome — startling 
novelties must put truth to a hazard. If the dead must be 
called up to judgment of an earthly tribunal, let it not be 
before a theatrical audience. The lecturer is under the 



214 THACKERAY'S LECTURES— SWIFT. 

necessity of being too much of an accuser ; and if from his 
own nature, or from some misconception of the characters he 
takes up, he be a willing one, he has a power to condemn, 
that the mere writer has not. 

In many passages of the book before us, there are examples 
both of the lecturer's danger, and of his power: many things 
said because of his audience ; and as such audience is gene- 
rally largely feminine, what advantage has the over-moralis- 
ing and for the time over-moralised lecturer against the 
dumb and bodiless culprit called up from his mortal dust, 
should there be a suspicion of want of tenderness, or doubt 
of a fidelity and affection, some hundred and fifty years ago, 
and unpardonable for ever? The lecture-table is no fit 
place, nor does it offer a fit occasion, to discuss the wondrous 
intricacies of any human character* It is not enough that 
the lecturer should have thought — there should be a pause, 
wherein a reader may think ; but an audience cannot : nor is 
the lecturer, however deeply he may have thought, likely to 
have such disinterested self-possession and caution, in his 
oral descriptions and appeals for praise or blame, as are 
absolutely required for a truthful biographer. It is a bold 
thing to bid the illustrious dead come from the sanctity of 
their graves, and stand before the judgment-seat of the 
author of Vanity Fair — to be questioned upon their religion 
and their morals, and not allowed, even if they could speak 
for themselves, to answer. The lecturer holds in his hand all 
their written documents, and all that have been written by 
scribes of old against them, and he will read but what he 
pleases — he, the scrupulously moral, religious man, doubly 
sanctified at all points for his hour's lecture in that temporary 
professor's garb of proprieties, which he is under no necessity 
of wearing an hour after he has dismissed his audience. We 
are not for a moment insinuating any dereliction of all the 
human virtues and graces, as against Mr Thackeray — but as 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES— SWIFT. 215 

a lecturer he must put on something of a sanctimonious or of a 
moral humbug ; he is on his stage, he has to act his part, to 
" fret his hour." He must do it well — he will do it well ; 
that is, to secure present rapturous applause. The audience 
is carried away quite out of its sober judgment by the wit, 
the wisdom, the pathos — and even the well-timed bathos — 
the pity, the satire, and the satire of all satire, in the pity. 
The ghosts are dismissed — sent back, as they should be, in 
the lecturer's and audience's estimation, to their "dead men's 
bones and all rottenness," no longer to taint the air of this 
amiable, judicious, and all-perfect age — epitomised in the 
audience. 

Give Professor Owen part of an old bone or a tooth, and 
he will on the instant draw you the whole animal, and tell 
you its habits and propensities. What Professor has ever 
yet been able to classify the wondrous varieties of human 
character ? How very limited as yet the nomenclature ! 
We know there are in our moral dictionary the religious, the 
irreligious, the virtuous, the vicious, the prudent, the profli- 
gate, the liberal, the avaricious, and so on to a few names ; 
but the varieties comprehended under these terms — their 
mixtures, which, like colours, have no names — their strange 
complexities and intertwining of virtues and vices, graces 
and deformities, diversified and mingled, and making indivi- 
dualities — yet of all the myriads of mankind that ever were, 
not one the same, and scarcely alike : how little way has 
science gone to their discovery, and to mark their delineation ! 
A few sounds, designated by a few letters, speak all thought, 
all literature, that ever was or will be. The variety is infin- 
ite, and ever creating a new infinite ; and there is some such 
mystery in the endless variety of human character. There 
are the same leading features to all — these we recognise ; but 
there are hidden individualities that escape research ; there 
is a large terra incognita, hard to find, and harder to make a 



216 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

map of. And if any would try to be a discoverer, here is his 
difficulty — can lie see beyond his own ken ? How difficult to 
have a conception of a character the opposite to one's-self! 
What man is so gifted? We are but portrait-painters, and 
no portrait-painter ever yet painted beyond himself — never 
represented on canvass an intellect greater than his own. In 
every likeness there is a something of the artist too. We 
look to other men, and think to find our own idiosyncracies, 
and we are prepared to love or hate accordingly. As the 
painter views his sitter in the glass, he is sure to see himself 
behind him. You biographers, you judges, self-appointed of 
other men, what a task do you set yourselves ! — have you 
looked well into your own qualifications ? You venture to 
plunge into the deep dark — to bring up the light of truth, 
which, if you could find it, would mayhap dazzle all your 
senses. It is far safer for your reputation to go out with 
Diogenes's lantern, or your own little one, and thrust it into 
men's faces, and make oath you cannot find an honest one ; 
and then draw the glimmer of it close to your own foreheads, 
and tell people to look there for honesty. But this is our 
preface, not Mr Thackeray's. He is too bold to need one. 
He rushes into his subject without excuse or apology, either 
for his own defects of delineation, or of his subject's character. 
If you would desire to see with what consummate ability, 
and with what perfect reality in an unlikeness he can paint 
a monster, read the first life of his Lectures, that of the great 
man — and we would fain believe, in spite of any of his 
biographers, a good man — Dean Swift. 

If we may be allowed to judge from a collection of contra- 
dictory statements respecting Swift, no man's life can be 
more difficult for a new writer to undertake, or for any 
reader to comprehend. If we are to judge from the unhesi- 
tating tone of the many biographers, and their ready accep- 
tance of data, no life is so easy. The essayist of the Times 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 217 

makes Swift Iiimself answerable for all the contradictions ; 
that they were all in him, and that he was at all times, from 
his birth to his death, mad. This is, indeed, to make short 
work of it, and save the -unravelling the perplexed skein of 
his history. Another writer contends that he was never mad 
at any period, not even the last of his life. That he was al- 
ways mad is preposterous, unless we are to accept as insanity 
what is out of and beyond the common rate of men's thoughts 
and doings. We certainly lack in the character of Swift the 
one prevalent idea, which pervades and occupies the whole 
mind of the madman. Such may have one vivid, not many 
opposites in him. 

But the contradictions ascribed to Swift are more like the 
impossibilities of human nature — if they are to be received 
as absolute characteristics, and not as occasional exceptions, 
which are apt, in the best of mankind, to take the conceit out 
of the virtues themselves, and to put them into a temporary 
abeyance, and mark them with a small infirmity, that they 
grow not too proud. 

The received histories, then, tell us that Swift was sin- 
cerely religious, and an infidel ; that he was the tenderest of 
men, a brute, a fiend, a naked unreclaimable savage ; a mis- 
anthrope, and the kindest of benefactors ; that he was avari- 
cious, and so judiciously liberal that he left no great fortune 
behind him. Such is the summary ; the details are both 
delightful and odious. The man who owns these vices and 
virtues must indeed be a monster or a madman ! These are 
characters very hard to fathom. Shakespeare has delineated 
one, and he has puzzled all the world except Shakespeare, 
who chose to make his picture more true by leaving it as a 
puzzle to the world. Hamlet has been pronounced mad from 
his conduct to Ophelia, mainly if not solely. It is a ready 
solution of the incomprehensible. Swift was a Hamlet to 
Stella and Vanessa ; and as there are two against him, versus 



218 THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

Hamlet's one love, critics pronounce him doubly mad. It is 
a very ingenious but not very satisfactory way of getting out 
of the difficulty. Mad, or in his senses, he is a character 
that provokes ; provoked writers are apt to be not fair ones ; 
and because they cannot quite comprehend, they malign : 
damnant quod non intelligunt, is also a rule guiding biographers. 
Shall he have the qualities " that might become an angel," 
or shall his portrait be " under the dark cloud, and every fea- 
ture be distorted into that of a fiend?" You have equal 
liberty from the records to depict him as you please. The 
picture to be seen at large by an assembled lecturer's audi- 
ence, must be strong and coarse in the main, and exhibit 
some tenderer tones to the near benches in front. 

" For a man of my level," says Swift of himself, " I have 
as bad a name almost as I deserve ! and I pray God that 
those who gave it me, may never have reason to give me a 
better." He does not, you see, set up for perfection, but 
through his present maligners he slaps his after-biogra- 
phers in the face, who, if they be hurt, will deny the wit or 
omit it, and prefer instanter a charge of hypocrisy. Angel 
or fiend ! how charitable or how unmerciful are lecturers 
and biographers ! and, being so able to distinguish and 
choose, how very good they must be themselves ! Did 
the reader ever happen to see a life of Tiberius with two 
title-pages, both taken from historical authorities ,• two char- 
acters of one and the same person ; made up, too, of recorded 
facts ? He is " that inimitable monarch Tiberius," during 
most of his reign " the universal dispenser of the bless- 
ings of peace," yet "he permitted the worst of civil wars 
to rage at Eome 1 " "We may venture to use the words of 
the essayist, speaking of Swift : " We doubt whether the 
histories of the world can furnish, for example and instruction, 
for wonder and pity, for admiration and scorn, for approval 
and condemnation, a specimen of humanity at once so illus- 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 219 

trious and so small." We have, from perfect authorities, 
Tiberius handed down for detestation and for universal 
admiration. The testimonies are not weak ; they are alike 
strong, and equally accepted standards of historical evidence 
and literature. " Swift stood a living enigma." It should 
seem there have been many such enigmas. Shakespeare, who 
knew all nature, gave the world one to make out as it can.* 
Grave history offers another. The novelist, M. de Wailly, 
has tried his hand at this enigma — Swift ; but the French- 
man, like most French novelists, went altogether out of 
nature to establish impossible theories. A dramatist might 
reduce the tale within the limits of nature, if he could but 

* It is curious this twofold character of Tiberius — surprising that historians 
should have credited this single existence of a civilised cannibal — this recorded 
" eater of human flesh and drinker of human blood." The learned writer of 
this volume on Tiberius, with truthful scrutiny, sifts every evidence, weighs 
testimony against testimony, and testimony of the same authority against 
itself, and after patient investigation concludes, as the reasonable solution of 
the historical enigma, that Tiberius was not only "of all kings or autocrats 
the most venerable," but that he was, * ' in the fourteenth year of his reign, a 
believer in the divinity of Jesus Christ," and, " during the last eight years of 
his reign, the nursing-father of the infant Catholic Church." It will be 
readily perceived that the supposition of Tiberius being a Christian at a time 
when Christianity was universally held to be an odious and justly-persecuted 
superstition, must have presented, through known facts and rumours, to the 
world at large, and to the philosophic minds of historians in particular, an 
idea of human character so novel and so confused, as to be, in the absence of 
such a clue, and a test which they could not admit, altogether incompre- 
hensible. What could they do with the sacramental fact — the eating human 



flesh and drinking human blood, by one known for his abstemiousness ? 



UK ' 

" Totrec.vrns Vouv Ton vns xa.rutrra.a'iojs ovoyis, . 

xai f&wl)' a.Tocgvno'oco'Cai tivo; ovva,(/.ivov ro fit] ov xoti 
tuv ffu^xojv uvrov wliiajs tfAtpwyuv." — DlON. C. 

" Fastidit vinum, quia jam bibit iste cruorem 

Tam bibit hunc avide quam bibit iste merum."— Suet. 

The sacramental fact discovered, and undeniable, yet not known as the sacra- t -, -.-. 
mental fact, must have made up a riddle of contradictions, which it was not 
in the power of that age to solve. In its ignorance it made a monster. Men 
are apt to see more than nature ever exhibits. 



220 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

once, for a few moments, be behind the scenes of truth's 
theatre — if he knew accurately all the facts, or perhaps one 
or two facts, that time has concealed, and perhaps ever will 
conceal ; and which, discovered, would solve the enigma at 
once. Of course, the great enigma lies in Swift's amours. 
These apart, no man would ever have ventured to assert the 
lifelong madness of Swift. Great men and little have had, 
and, as long as the world lasts, will have their amours, 
honest ones and dishonest ; but, excepting for romance-writ- 
ing and gossiping of a day, such themes have been thought 
unworthy history, and to be but slightly notable even in 
biography. Their natural secresy has hitherto covered the 
correct ones with a sanctity, and the incorrect with a darker 
veil, that it is better not to lift ; nor is it easy at all times 
to distinguish the right from the wrong. The living 
resent the scrutiny : we do not admire the impertinence, 
nor easily admit the privilege of an amatorial inquisition 
upon the characters of the dead. And what has curiosity 









\ 



gathered, after all, which ought to justify honest people in 
maligning Swift, Stella, or Vanessa ? A mass of contradic- 
tions. They cannot all be true. Even Stella's marriage, 
stated as a fact by so many writers, is denied, and upon as 
fair evidence as its supposition. The first account of it is 
given as many as seven years alter Swift s death, and twenty- 
four years after Stella's. There are two versions with respect 
to the dying scene, and supposed dialogue regarding the 
marriage. They contradict each other; for, in the one, 
Swift is made brutally to leave the room, and never to have 
seen her after ; in the other, to have desired to acknowledge 
the marriage, and that Stella said, " It is too late." Who 
knows if either be true? and what means " it is too late?" 
Do those few simple words, overheard, necessarily imply 
any such acknowledgment? But there is proof that one 
malicious statement is false. " This behaviour," says Mr 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 221 

Thomas Sheridan (not Dr Sheridan, the friend of Swift, for 
whom he has been mistaken, and weight accordingly given 
to his statement), threw Mrs Johnson into unspeakable 
agonies ; and for a time she sunk under the weight of so 
cruel a disappointment. But soon after, roused by indigna- 
tion, she inveighed against his cruelty in the bitterest terms ; 
and sending for a lawyer, made her will, bequeathing her 
fortune, by her own name, to charitable uses." It is said this 
was done in the presence of Dr Sheridan ; but the narrator 
was a mere lad when his father, from whom he is said to 
have received it, died. But this very will is, if not of Swift's 
dictation, the will he had wished her to make (compare it 
with Swift's own will — the very phraseology is strongly 
indicative of his dictation) ; for he had thus written to Mr 
Worral when in London, during Stella's severe illness : " I 
wish it could be brought about that she might make her will. 
Her intentions are to leave the interest of all her fortune to 
her mother and sister during their lives, afterwards to Dr 
Stevens's hospital, to purchase lands for such uses as she 
designs it." Upon this Mr Wilde, author of The Closing 
Yearns of Dean Swift's Life, remarks most properly : " Now, 
such was not only the tenor, but the very words of the will 
made two years afterwards, which Sheridan (Thomas, not 
Dr Sheridan) would have his readers believe was made in 
pique at the Dean's conduct." Then it follows, that if this 
paragraph in the tale, and told as a consequence of the 
previous paragraph, is untrue, as it is proved to be, the first 
part, the brutal treatment, falls to the ground. In any court 
the evidence would be blotted from the record. It is curious, 
and may have possibly some bearing upon the Platonic love 
of Swift and Stella, that she should, in this will, have been 
so enamoured of celibacy, that she enjoins it upon the 
chaplain whom she appointed to read prayers and preach at 
the hospital. " It is likewise my will that the said chaplain 



222 thackeray's lectures — swift. 

be an -unmarried man at the time of his election, and so 
continue while he enjoys the office of chaplain to the said 
hospital." This will is also curious, and worthy of notice, in 
another respect. Among the slanders upon Swift and Stella, 
it had been circulated that she had been not only his mistress, 
but had had a child by him ; and an old bell-ringer's testi- 
mony was adduced for the fact. There may be in the mind 
of the reader quite sufficient reasons to render the story 
impossible ; but one item of the will is a bequest to this 
supposed child by name. " I bequeath to Bryan M'Loglin 
(a child who now lives with me, and whom I keep on charity) 
twenty-five pounds, to bind him out apprentice, as my 
executors, or the survivors of them, shall think fit." This 
is the great case of cruelty against Swift, and we think it is 
satisfactorily disposed of. Have we any other notice given 
that Swift behaved brutally to Stella? None. Where is 
there any evidence of her complaining ? but there is evidence 
of the tenderest affection on Swift's part. Stella's letters have 
never seen the light ; but, if we may judge by the answers 
to them, there could have been no charge of cruelty brought 
against him by her. The whole is an assumption from 
this narrative of Sheridan the son, and, as we have shown, 
altogether a misconception or a dream of his. Even with 
respect to Stella's parentage authors do not agree — yet each 
speaks as positively as if he had been at the birth. Swift 
himself says that her father was a younger brother of a good 
family in Nottinghamshire, and her mother of a lower degree. 
Some assert that she was the natural daughter of Sir William 
Temple. Johnson says, the daughter of Sir William Temple's 
steward ; but, in contradiction to this, it is pretty clear that 
her mother did not marry this steward, whose name was 
Mosse, till after Sir William Temple's death, when Stella was 
in Ireland. Sir William left her a thousand pounds, and, it is 
said, declared to her her parentage. A writer in the Gentle- 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 223 

man's Magazine for 1757, who knew Stella's mother, and was 
otherwise well acquainted with facts, is urged, in indignation 
at the treacherous and spiteful narrative by Lord Orrery, to 
write a defence of the Dean. From this source, what others 
had indeed suspected is strongly asserted — that Swift was 
himself the natural son of Temple. He thus continues : 
" When Stella went to Ireland, a marriage between her and 
the Dean could not be foreseen ; but when she thought proper 
to communicate to her friends the Dean's proposal, and her 
approbation of it, it was then become absolutely necessary 
for that person, who alone knew the secret history of the 
parties concerned, to reveal what otherwise might have been 
buried in oblivion. But was the Dean to blame, because he 
was ignorant of his natural relation to Stella? or can he 
justly be censured because it was not made known to him 
before the day of the marriage ? He admired her ; he loved 
her ; he pitied her ; and when fate placed the everlasting 
barrier between them, their affection became a true Platonic 

love, if not something yet more exalted We 

are sometimes told, that upon the Hanoverian family succeed- 
ing to the throne of Great Britain, Swift renounced all hopes 
of farther preferment ; and that his temper became more 
morose, and more intolerable every year. I acknowledge 
the fact in part ; but it was not the loss of his hopes that 
soured Swift alone ; this was the unlucky epocha of that 
discovery, that convinced the Dean that the only woman in 
the world who could make him happy as a wife, was the 
only woman in the world who could not be that wife." 
Delany also entertained a suspicion in agreement with this 
account. The supposition would seem to throw light upon 
a mysterious passage in Swift's life, and to be sufficient 
explanation of all his behaviour to Stella. " Immediately 
subsequent to the ceremony (the marriage) Swift's state of 
mind," says Scott, " appears to have been dreadful. Delany, 



224 THACKERAY S LECTURES— SWIFT. 

as I have heard from a friend of his relict, being pressed to 
give his opinion on this strange nnion, said, that abont the 
time it took place, he observed Swift to be extremely gloomy 
and agitated — so much so, that he went to Archbishop King 
to mention his apprehensions. On entering the library, 
Swift rushed out with a countenance of distraction, and 
passed him without speaking. He found the Archbishop in 
tears ; and upon asking the reason, he said, ' You have just 
met the most unhappy man on earth, but on the subject of 
his wretchedness you must never ask a question.' " Sir 
Walter Scott does not admit this story in the Gentleman's 
Magazine, but we doubt if the reason of his doubt, or rejection 
of it, be quite satisfactory. " It is enough to say that Swift's 
parents resided in Ireland from before 1665 until his birth in 
1667, and that Temple was residing in Holland from April 
1666 until January 1668. Lord Orrery says until 1670." 
Dates, it appears, are not always accurately ascertained. 
We cannot determine that ambassadors have no latitude for 
a little ubiquity ; but there is one very extraordinary cir- 
cumstance with regard to Swift's childhood, that seems to 
involve in it no small degree of mystery. " It happened, by 
whatever accident, that Jonathan was not suckled by his 
mother, but by a nurse, who was a native of Whitehaven ; 
and, when he was about a year old, her affection for him was 
become so strong, that, finding it necessary to visit a relation 
who was dangerously sick, and from whom she expected a 
legacy, she found means to convey the child on shipboard, 
without the knowledge of his mother or his uncle, and carried 
him with her to Whitehaven. At this place he continued 
near three years ; for when the matter was discovered, his 
mother sent orders not to hazard a second voyage, till he 
should be better able to bear it. The nurse, however, gave 
other testimonies of her affection to Jonathan, for during his 
stay at Whitehaven she had him taught to spell, and when 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 225 

he was five years old he was able to read a chapter in the 
Bible." 

This undoubted incident is no small temptation to a 
novelist to spin a fine romance, and affiliate the child 
according to his fancy. It is a strange story — a very poor 
widow not suckling her own child ! kept three years away 
from a parent, lest, having borne one voyage well, the young 
child should not be able to bear a second ! The said novelist 
may find sufficient reason for the mother in after years recom- 
mending him to Sir William Temple, and perhaps weave 
into his story that the nominal mother was one intrusted 
with a charge^ not her own. Stella's mother's connection 
with the Temple family may be as rationally accounted for. 
The writer in the Gentleman's Magazine, already quoted, 
seems to have had this account of Johnston from the widow 
herself. " This gentlewoman (Stella's mother) was the 
widow (as she always averred) of one Johnston a merchant, 
who, having been unfortunate in trade, afterwards became 
master of a trading sloop, which ran between England and 
Holland, and there died." Then, again, to revert to the 
entanglement of this mystery, although it is received that 
there was a marriage — a private marriage, as it is said, in 
the garden, by the Bishop of Clogher — are there really 
sufficient grounds for a decision in the affirmative ? It is 
traced only to Delany and Sheridan (who could not have 
known it but by hearsay), and the assertion, on suspicion, 
of the worst of all evidences with regard to Swift, Orrery 
(he only knew him in his declining years, as he confesses) ; 
but Dr Lyon, Swift's executor, denied it ; and Mrs Dingley, 
who came to Ireland, after Sir William Temple's death, with 
Stella, and lived with her till her death, laughed at it as an 
idle tale. Mrs Brent, with whom the Dean's mother lodged, 
and who subsequently was his housekeeper, never believed 
it, and often told her daughter so, who succeeded her as 

p 



226 THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

housekeeper. It is said the secret was told to Bishop Berkeley 
by the Bishop of Clogher. " But," says Sir Walter Scott, 
" I must add, that if, as affirmed by Mr Monck Mason, 
Berkeley was in Italy from the period of the marriage to the 
death of the Bishop of Clogher, this communication could 
not have taken place." With evidence so conflicting even 
as to the marriage — so uncertain — and if a marriage, as to 
the relationship between the parties— as to the time of 
discovery — and with that maddening possibility of Swift's 
physical infirmity alluded to by Scott ; it does appear that it 
is the assumption of a very cruel critical right, to fasten upon 
the character of Swift a charge of fiendishness and brutality 
towards Stella. Where there are so many charitable ways 
of accounting for his conduct, most of which might well 
move our admiration and our pity, and where the tenderness 
of the parties towards each other cannot for a moment be 
doubted (vide Swift's diary in his letters, and his most 
touching letter speaking of her death and burial), there is 
nothing more improbable, nothing more out of nature, than 
the acquiescence of both Swift and Stella in a condition 
which might well have driven both mad, if that condition 
had been avoidable. We have a hesitation in believing in 
self-made monsters. Novelists, romance- writers, and drama- 
tists, conjure them up for their hour on the stage, but it is a 
novelty to admit them into a biography which professes to 
be true. As to Lord Orrery, the first slanderer of Swift 
after his death, we have a perfect contempt for his character. 
He sought the aged Swift for his own ends. His father had 
bequeathed away from him his library ; in his vexation he 
thought to vindicate himself by an ambition to become a 
literary character. As Alcibiades sought Socrates, not for 
Socrates' virtues, but because his wisdom might aid him in his 
political schemes ; so Lord Orrery took the leading literary 
characters of the day, and especially Swift, into what compan- 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 227 

ionship he might. He cajoled and flattered the old man, and 
at his death maligned him. There was hypocrisy, too ; for 
it was contemptible in him to have pretended a friendship so 
warm, with a man whom he designated as a tyrant, a brute, 
and irreligious. The world are keen to follow evil report. 
The ill life which is told by a friend is authentic enough for 
subsequent writers, who, like sheep, go over the hedge after 
their leader. The writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for 
November 1757, speaks as one intimately, and of long con- 
tinuance, acquainted with all the circumstances of the case. 
He says significantly that he thinks there are some living who 
have it in their power, from authentic materials, to throw 
light upon the subject. That he was well acquainted with 
Stella's mother we learn from the following passage : " I 
saw her myself in the autumn of 1742 (about a year before 
her death), and although far advanced in years, she still 
preserved the remains of a very fine face." He minutely 
describes Stella's person as one who had seen her. " Let 
those judge who have been so happy as to have seen this 
Stella, this Hetty Johnston, and let those who have not, 
judge from the following description" — and as one who had 
conversed with her : " Her mind was yet more beautiful 
than her person, and her accomplishments were such as to 
do honour to the man who was so happy as to call her 
daughter." He tells the anecdote (for which he says "I 
have undoubted authority") of her presence of mind and 
courage in firing a pistol at a robber on a ladder about to 
enter her room at night. He gives the time, and implies 
the cause of her leaving Moor Park to reside in Ireland. 
" As soon as she was woman enough to be intrusted with 
her own conduct, she left her mother, and Moor Park, and 
went to Ireland to reside, by the order of Sir William, who 
was yet alive. She was conducted thither by Swift ; but of 
this I am not positive, as I am that her mother parted with 



228 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

her as one who was never to see her again." Upon that 
fact, then, he is positive, and scrupulous of assertion where 
not so. May it be conjectured he had the information from 
the mother herself, when he saw her so near the time of her 
death ? He asserts that Sir William " often recommended 
her tender innocence to the protection of Swift, as she had no 
declared male relation that could he her defender;" that " from 
that time when they received the proper notice of the secrets 
of the family, they took care to converse before witnesses, 
even though they had never taken such precaution before." 
■' Can we wonder," he adds, " that they should spend one 
day in the year in fasting, praying, and tears, from this 
period to her death ? Might it not be the anniversary of 
their marriage ?" " Swift had more forcible reasons for not 
owning Stella for his wife, than his lordship (Orrery) has 
allowed ; and that it was not his behaviour, but her own 
unhappy situation, that might perhaps shorten her days." 
The contributor, who signs himself C.M.P.G.N.S.T.N.S., 
writes purposely to vindicate the character of Swift from the 
double slander of Lord Orrery, who impeaches " the Dean's 
charity, his tenderness, and even his humanity, in conse- 
quence of his hitherto unaccountable behaviour to his Stella, 
and of his long resentment shown to his sister." Lord 
Orrery had said that Swift had persisted in not owning his 
marriage from pride, because he had reproached his sister 
for marrying a low man, and would never see her or com- 
municate with her after her marriage. That as Stella was 
also of low origin, he feared his reproaches might be thrown 
back upon himself. Then follows an entire contradiction of 
this unlikely statement or surmise of Orrery — for that, " after 
her husband's and Lady Gilford's death, she (the sister, 
Mrs Fenton) retired to Farnham, and boarded with Mrs 
Mayne, Mrs Mosse boarding there at the same time, with 
whom she lived in the greatest intimacy ; and as she had not 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 229 

enough to maintain her, the Dean paid her an annuity as 
long as she lived — neither was that annuity a trifle." An- 
other correspondent in the same Magazine — for December 
1757 — as desirous of vindicating the Dean, yet, nevertheless, 
points out a supposed error with regard to the passage in 
which mention is made of " the unlucky epocha of that dis- 
covery," being that of the accession of the Hanoverian 
family, and the loss of Swift's hopes. " But this," he says, 
" is inconsistent with Swift's marrying her in 1716, as (in 
page 487) we are told he did; or in 1717, in which year, I 
think, Lord Orrery places this event." We think this is 
being too precise. Lord Oxford was impeached and sent to 
the Tower in 1715, which is sufficiently near to be called the 
same epocha. Or even if we take the accession from the 
death of Queen Anne — August 1714 — the disappointment 
must have been rankling in the mind of Swift, still fresh, at 
the time of the other event. He likewise notices that Sir 
William Temple was abroad at and before Swift's birth ; 
but, for reasons we have given, we think this objection 
of no importance. No mention is made of Vanessa in the 
article in the Gentleman 's Magazine. The author seems cau- 
tiously, conscientiously, to abstain from every item of 
Orrery's narrative, but such as he was assured of from his 
own knowledge. 

Johnson, in his Life of Swift, speaks disparagingly of 
Stella's wit and accomplishments. It was displeasing to the 
great lexicographer that a woman should spell badly. Bad 
spelling was, we apprehend, the feminine accomplishment 
of the day. Dr Drake, in his essay on the literature and 
manners of that age, says, " It was not wonderful that our 
women could not spell, when it may be said that our men 
had not yet learned to read.' ' 

We prefer Swift's account of this matter. She was 
" versed," he says, " in Greek and Koman history — spoke 



230 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

French perfectly — understood Platonic and Epicurean philo- 
sophy, and judged very well of the defects of the latter. 
She made judicious abstracts of the books she had read," 
&c. Of her manners : " It was not safe nor prudent in her 
presence to offend in the least word against modesty, for she 
then gave full employment to her wit, her contempt, and 
resentment, under which stupidity and brutality were forced 
to sink into confusion ; and the guilty person, by her future 
avoiding him like a bear or a satyr, was never in a way to 
transgress again." She thus replied to a coxcomb who tried 
to put the ladies in her company to the blush : " Sir, all 
these ladies and I understand your meaning very well, 
having, in spite of our care, too often met with those of 
your sex who wanted manners and good sense. But, believe 
me, neither virtuous nor even vicious women love such kind 
of conversation. However, I will leave you, and report your 
behaviour ; and whatever visit I make, I shall first inquire 
at the door whether you are in the house, that I may be 
sure to avoid you." " She understood the nature of govern- 
ment, and could point out all the errors of Hobbes, both in 
that and religion." This letter of Swift's is full of her 
praise ; but we know nothing more touching than the pas- 
sage which speaks of his sickening feelings at the hour of 
her burial. " January 30, Tuesday. — This is the night of 
the funeral, which my sickness will not suffer me to attend. 
It is now nine at night, and I am removed into another 
apartment that I may not see the light in the church, which 
is just over against the window of my bed-chamber." Were 
these words written by a cruel man ! ! Well, if so, we must 
admire a woman's saying — as it is put by Mr Thackeray : 
" Ah, it was a hard fate that wrung from them so many 
tears, and stabbed pitilessly" — (alas, Mr Thackeray, why 
will you put in that odious pitilessly?) — " that pure and tender 
bosom ! A hard fate ; but would she have changed it ? I 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 231 

have heard a woman say that she would have taken Swift's 
cruelty to have had his tenderness." And why, Mr Thack- 
eray, will you say of such a man, when he was writing that 
they had removed him into another apartment, that he might 
not see the light in the church, and was praising her and lov- 
ing her when he could speak or write a word — why, we ask, 
should you say, " in contemplation of her goodness, his hard 
heart melts into pathos." Your own heart was a little ossify- 
ing into hardness when you wrote this. Ah ! did you wish 
your female audience to think how much more tender you 
could be yourself? and so did you offer this little apology 
for some hard things in your novels ? We wish you had 
written an essay, and not read a lecture. You would have 
been both less hard and less tender — for, in truth, your 
tender passages in this Life of Swift, are very well to the 
purpose, to catch your audience ; but they are " nihil ad 
rem." And your appeal to the " pure and tender bosoms," 
all against poor Swift, as a detestable cannibal, — how in his 
Modest Proposal, " he rages against children," and " enters 
the nursery with the tread and gaiety of an ogre," how 
he thought the "loving and having children" an "un- 
reasonableness," and " love and marriage " a " folly," 
because in his Lilliputian kingdom the state removed 
children from their parents and educated them ; and you 
wind up your appeal so lovingly, so charmingly, so de- 
votedly, so insinuatingly to your fair audience, upon the 
blessings of conjugal love and philoprogenitiveness, that you 
must be the dearest of lecturers, the pet of families, the de- 
stroyer of ogres ; and, as to that monster Swift, the very 
children should cry out, as they do in the Children in the 
Wood, " Kill him again, Mr Thackeray." And this you did, 
knowing all the while that the Modest Proposal was a patrio- 
tic and political satire — one of real kindness to the people, 
whose children he supposes, in the depth of his feeling and 



232 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

his satire and bitter irony, the Government should encourage 
the getting rid of, rather than, in defiance of all his (the 
Dean's) schemes for the benefit of Ireland, they should be 
made a burden to their parents, and miserable themselves. 
All this you knew very well : it was shabby and shameful of 
you by your mere eloquence to make this grave irony appear 
or be felt as a reality and a cruelty, and tack on to it an im- 
portation from Lilliput of a state edict, as if it were one in 
Swift's mind with the Modest Proposal. Yes, — you knew, 
the while these your words were awakening detestation of 
Swift, you were oratorising a very great sham — all nonsense 
— stuff — that would never pass current but through the 
stamp of lectureship. You knew how the witty Earl Ba- 
thurst, a kind father with his loved children about him, as 
good-naturedly as you should have done, received Swift's 
benevolently intended satire. " A man who has nine child- 
ren to feed," says Lord Bathurst to Swift, " can't long afford 
alienos pascere nummos ; but I have four or five that are very 
fit for the table. I only wait for the Lord Mayor's Day to 
dispose of the largest, and shall be sure of getting off the 
youngest whenever a certain great man (Sir K. Walpole) 
makes another entertainment at Chelsea.'' Here are your 
false words to win all feminine sympathy : "In fact, our 
great satirist was of opinion that conjugal love was unadvis- 
able, and illustrated the theory by his own practice and ex- 
ample — God help him ! — which made him about the most 
wretched being in God's world." How cruel was this in you, 
under some of the probabilities, and all the possibilities that 
may be, ought to be, charitably referred to Swift's case — in 
his loves or his friendships, be they what they will, for Stella 
and Vanessa? Vanessa — have we, then, all this while for- 
gotten Vanessa ? Hers is indeed a curious story. It is told 
in Swift's poem of " Cadenus and Vanessa," and published 
after her death, by the dying orders of Vanessa herself. 



I 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 233 

At the time Swift was moving in the higher circles in 
London, he appears to have been remarkable for the graceful- 
ness of his manners and his conversational powers. These 
accomplishments won for him many friendships in the female 
society in which he found himself. Indeed, in his letters, his 
female correspondence possesses a great charm, and speaks 
very highly in favour of the wit and accomplishments of the 
really well-educated women of the day. Swift lived in 
great familiarity with the Vanhomrighs. The eldest daughter 
(another Esther), ardent by nature, and desirous of improv- 
ing her mind, earnestly gave herself up to Swift's converse 
and instruction, The result on her part was love, on Swift's 
friendship : it is possible he may have felt something stronger ; 
but, with an inconsistency, those who charge him with a 
tenderer feeling deny him the power of entertaining it. The 
story is too well known to be repeated here. She confessed 
her passion, and he insisted upon friendship only. She fol- 
lowed him to Ireland. She so expressed her state of mind to 
him by letter, that Swift had certainly reason to apprehend 
fatal consequences, if he altogether broke off his intimacy. 
If it be true that Swift was by nature cold, it is some excuse 
for imprudence that he did not easily suspect, or perhaps 
know, the dangerous and seducing power of an attachment 
warmer than friendship. It is evident he professed nothing 
more. Whatever be the case in that respect, there is no 
reason to charge upon either an improper intimacy. Mr 
Thackeray thinks the two women died, killed by their love 
for, and treatment by, Swift. It is possible love, and dis- 
appointed love, may have hastened both their deaths, and 
made the wretchedness of Swift. On all sides, the misery 
was one for compassion, and such compassion as may chari- 
tably cover much blame. But even the story of Vanessa is 
told differently. There is little certainty to go upon, but 
enough for any man who pleases to write vilely on. Lord 



234 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 



Orrery is very unmerciful on the character of Vanessa. He, 
in downright terms, charges her with having thrown away 
her virtue and her religion, preferring passion to one and wit 
to the other. This certainly gives him a good latitude for 
maligning his friend. Did he ever give his friend Swift a 
piece of his mind, and say to him, he thought him a rascal, 
and would discontinue his friendship ? Oh, no ; it was plea- 
santer and very friendly to tell all his spiteful things, after 
the Dean was dead, to " his Ham," that they might be 
handed down to the world from u father to son," and so the 
world must know " you would have smiled to have found his 
house a constant seraglio of very virtuous women, who 
attended him from morning till night, with an obedience, an 
awe, and an assiduity, that are seldom paid to the richest or 
the most powerful lovers ; no, not even to the Great Seignior 
himself." Yet the facetious father of " my Ham " never saw 
Stella, and knew perhaps as little of the seraglio. Sir Walter 
Scott says, as others also, we believe, that, upon Vanessa's 
applying to Stella herself to know the nature of the unde- 
fined connection between her and Swift, she received from 
Stella an acknowledgment of the marriage. If this were true, 
it would of course settle that question ; but Lord Orrery, from 
whom the first statement of the marriage came, and who 
would readily have seized such a confirmation of his tale, 
says no such thing. On the contraiy, he says Vanessa 
wrote the letter to Cadenus, not to Stella, and that Swift 
brought his own written reply, and, " throwing down the 
letter on her table, with great passion hastened back to his 
horse, carrying in his countenance the frowns of anger and 
indignation." How are we to trust to accounts so different? 
" She did not," he adds, " survive many days (he should have 
said weeks, but days tell more against his friend) the letter 
delivered to her by Cadenus, but during that short interval 
she was sufficiently composed to cancel a will made in Swift's 



THACKERAY a LECTURES — SWIFT. 235 

favour, and to make another," &c. Who will not ask the 
question, — Was there a will made in Swift's favour? It is 
against probability ; for be it remembered, that the same story 
was told with respect to Stella's will, and it has been clearly 
proved that her will was such as Swift wished her to make. 
Nor was it all consistent with Swift's character, proud as he 
was, and always so cautious to avoid any scandal on Stella's 
account, that he would have allowed her to make a will in 
his favour ; and it would have been still more revolting to 
his pride to have accepted a legacy from Vanessa. 

Orrery treats poor Vanessa worse even than he does his 
friend. He conjectures her motives as against Swift, and 
writes of her death, " under all the agonies of despair," 
which, unless he were present at the last scene, he is not 
justified in doing, and reviles her with a cruel uncharitable- 
ness. The worst that ought to be said of this miserable love 
and perplexing friendship is said by Scott — " It is easy for 
those who look back on this melancholy story to blame the 
assiduity of Swift or the imprudence of Vanessa. But the 
first deviation from the straight line of moral rectitude is, in 
such a case, so very gradual, and on the female side the shades 
of colour which part esteem from affection, and affection from 
passion, are so imperceptibly heightened, that they who fail 
to stop at the exact point where wisdom bids, have much 
indulgence to claim from all who share with them the frailties 
of mortality." 

More than a hundred and fifty years ago this sad tale, 
whatever it was in reality, yet now a mystery, was acted to 
the life in this strange world. The scandal of few real 
romances seldom lasts so long. It is time to cease pursuing 
it with feelings of a recent enmity ; it is a better charity to 
hope, that all that was of difference, of vexation, of misery, 
nay, of wrong, has become as unsubstantial as their dust, and 
that they are where all that was of love is sure to be, for love 



23* 



:erj 



is eternal. Poor Vanessa's dust may still rest in peace. 
Swift's and Stella's have not been allowed the common repose 
of the grave. Their bodies have been disturbed. The phren- 
ologists have been busy with the skulls, and their unhallowed 
curiosity has been rewarded with a singular refutation of their 
doctrine. The peculiarities of Swift's skull are : " The ex- 
treme lowness of the forehead, those parts which the phren- 
ologists have marked out as the organs of wit, causality, and 
comparison, being scarcely developed at all, but the head rose 
gradually from benevolence backwards. The portion of the 
occipital bone assigned to the animal propensities, philopro- 
genitiveness and amativeness, &c, appeared excessive." 

There is something very shocking in this disturbance of 
the dead. We are inclined to join in Shakespeare's impreca- 
tion on the movers of bones. Swift's larynx has been stolen, 
and is now, they say, in possession of the purloiner in America. 
We wish it had Swift's human utterance, that the thief 
might wish he had no ears. An itinerant phrenologist is now 
hawking about Pope's skull. Mathews's thigh-bone has cir- 
culated from house to house. If ghosts ever visit nowadays 
our earth, they should come armed each with a stout stick, 
and act upon the phrenologists the " Fatal Curiosity." 

Johnson's line — 

"And Swift expires a driveller and a show," 

if it was not justified, as it certainly was not, during the 
Dean's last years, in his melancholy state, may be justified 
as a prophecy, and fulfilled when his skull was handed about 
from fashionable house and party — and exhibited as a show. 
Before we entirely quit the subject of Swift's amours, it is 
necessary to mention a serious offer of marriage which he 
certainly made, about the year 1696. The lady — Miss Jane 
Waring — did not at first receive his advances very warmly. 
After four years the courtship came to an end. It seems 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES' — SWIFT. 237 

Miss Waring became more complying as Swift cooled. In a 
letter he complained of her want of any real affection for him. 
It is so worded as to imply some doubts of her temper and 
judgment. He writes as a man would do who considers 
himself rather bound in honour than by love, and still offers 
marriage — upon terms. These terms, those who profess to be 
conversant in love proprieties, as in other branches of criticism, 
say no woman could comply with. We do not profess to 
determine cases of that nature. We apprehend all kinds of 
terms have been complied with on both sides without im- 
peachment in the Court of Love. This offer of marriage, 
however, militates against Sir Walter Scott's hypothesis of 
physical unfitness, and rather strengthens the argument and 
statements of the writer in the Gentleman's Magazine. We 
believe the exact date of the supposed marriage has not been 
given. If it did take place, what if it should be possible it 
was on the day — his birthday (or what he pleases to call his 
birthday) — at the recurrence of which he bewailed his birth 
by reading the chapter in Job ? Nor must we omit, as it 
shows the shallow grounds upon which defamation often 
rests, a charge of violation made against Swift at Kilroot, 
because such a charge was found to have been really made 
against one J. S., as it appeared in a magistrate's books. 
J. S. might have stood for Jonathan Swift — let him, there- 
fore, bear the iniquity. It might have been fastened upon 
any or all of the numerous family of Smith, or any other J. S. 
in the world. It is curious that the first propagator, who, 
possibly with truth, denied having made the charge, as he 
might have said the letters J. S. only — as did the register — 
and unwittingly left the appropriation to his listeners ; — it is 
curious, we observe, that this man became raving mad, and 
was an inmate in Swift's hospital. The idle tale has been 
disproved, and but one of his worst m aligners repeats it. 
There are no passages in this portion of Mr Thackeray's 



238 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

Lectures more odious, and more repugnant to our taste and 
feeling, than those which charge Swift with irreligion ; nor 
are they less offensive because the author says — " I am not 
here, of course, to speak of any man's religious views, except 
in so far as they influence his literary character, his life, his 
humour." This denying latitude really means quite the 
contrary to its preface ; for, since religion does concern every 
man's life, and he writes or reads the life, he need not have 
said he had nothing (of course) to do with it, under any ex- 
ceptions. But it serves the purposes of assuming a reluctance 
to touch upon the subject, and of charging upon the necessity 
of the case the many free and unnecessary animadversions 
upon Swift's character as a priest of the Church of England. 
The lecturer far outdoes the false friend Orrery, who, 
speaking of his Gulliver, says, " I am afraid he glances at 
religion." It is true, he goes rather far to set up his friend 
the Dean as an example of punishment by Providence, which 
punishment he admires and confesses as according to right- 
eous ways. His lordship might have pitied, if angels weep. 
Not a bit of it. " Here," he says, " a reflection naturally 
occurs, which, without superstition, leads me tacitly to admire 
and confess the ways of Providence. For this great genius, 
this mighty wit, who seemed to scorn and scoff at all man- 
kind, lived not only to be an example of pride punished in 
his own person, and an example of terror to others, but lived 
to undergo some of the greatest miseries to which human 
nature is liable." Is this an instance of the charity which 
" covereth a multitude of sins," and which saith, "Judge 
not"? If his lordship had exercised on this occasion his 
superstition, which he thus adroitly puts aside, he would 
pretty much have resolved Swift's sins into a material neces- 
sity. Thus he philosophises on vice and virtue as effects : 
" These effects take their sources from causes almost me- 
chanical." 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 239 

Mr Thackeray is still more severe — more unjust. He will 
not allow his strictness in his religious duties, not even his 
family devotions, to pass as current coin ; they are shams 
and counterfeits. The Swift too proud to lie, was enact- 
ing hypocrisy in all this ; and how lucidly conclusive the 
argument ! Would any modern lecturer like to be tried by 
it? " The boon- companion of Pope and Bolingbroke, who 
chose these as the friends of his life, and the recipients of 
his confidence and affection, must have heard many an argu- 
ment, and joined in many a conversation, over Pope's port or 
' St John's' burgundy, which would not bear to be repeated 
at other men's boards." " Must have heard." ! ! Had the 
lecturer been an eye and ear witness, he could not have said 
more. Yet this must is a very little must indeed. A letter 
of Bolingbroke 's, and another from Pope to Swift, which the 
lecturer, as he ought to have done, had doubtless read, per- 
fectly reduces the little must to nothing at all. Swift, it 
seems, had written to Pope in some way to convert him from 
Popery. Pope's reply parries off the Dean's shafts by wit, 
and the letter is very pleasant. Not so Bolingbroke ; and as 
he was of too free a spirit to be false, and a hypocrite, at the 
time he wrote his reply he was not that bold speculator in 
atheistical arguments which he may have afterwards been ; 
or if he was a hypocrite, that alternative defends Swift, for 
it shows the improbability of the arguments over the bur- 
gundy having been in their familiar converse ; for Bolingbroke 
was at least no fool to contradict himself before Swift. These 
are his remarkable words, defending himself from the appel- 
lation of a freethinker, in its irreligious sense : " For since 
the truth of Christianity is as evident as matters of fact, on 
the belief of which so much depends, ought to be, and agree- 
able to all our ideas of justice, these freethinkers (such as he 
had described) must needs be Christians on the best founda- 
tion — on that which St Paul himself established (I think it 



240 THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

was St Paul), Omnia probate, quod bonum est tenete." It is 
not needful for us to vindicate Bolingbroke, nor even to 
express any great satisfaction at this passage ; our purpose 
is to show Swift's religious sincerity, and the probable 
nature of the conversations with Pope and Bolingbroke from 
these letters. 

But to the excess of severity in the lecturer. He contrasts 
" Harry Fielding and Dick Steele " with Swift for religious 
sincerity. These "were," he says, " especially loud, and I 
believe fervent, in their expressions of belief." He admits them 
to have been unreasoning, and Church of England men. " But 
Swift, his mind had had a different schooling, and possessed 
a very different logical power. He was not bred up in a 
tipsy guardroom, and did not learn to reason in a Covent 
Garden tavern. He could conduct an argument from begin- 
ning to end. He could see forward with a fatal clearness. 
In his old age, looking at the Tale of a Tub, when he said 
' Good God ! what a genius I had when I wrote that book ! ■ 
I think he was admiring, not the genius, but the consequences 
to which the genius had brought him — a vast genius, a mag- 
nificent genius — a genius wonderfully bright, and dazzling, 
and strong, to seize, to know, to see, to flash upon falsehood, 
and scorch it into perdition, to penetrate into the hidden 
motives, and expose the black thoughts of men ; an awful, an 
evil spirit:" and yet Mr Thackeray would make this evil 
spirit a spirit of truth, of logical power, of brightness to seize, 
to know, to see, to flash upon falsehood ; in fact, that irre- 
ligion was the natural result of true good logical reasoning, 
and therefore Swift had no religion. We have no business 
to charge the lecturer with irreligious sentiments ; indeed we 
feel assured that he had no irreligious motive whatever in the 
utterance of this passage; nor could he have had, with any dis- 
cretion, before a mixed modern audience : in the hurry of his 
eloquence, he overlooked the want of precise nicety of expres- 



THACKERAY S LECTURES— SWIFT. 241 

sion due to such a subject. We could wish that he had other- 
wise worded this passage, which, to the minds of the many, 
will certainly convey a notion that the legitimate conclusion of 
reasonable logical arguments is infidelity. Yet more. " Ah I 
man ! you educated in the Epicurean Temple's library — you 
whose friends were Pope and St John — what made you to 
swear to fatal vows, and bind yourself to a life-long hypocrisy 
before Heaven, which you adored with such real wonder, 
humility, and reverence ? For Swift's was a reverent spirit ; 
for Swift could love and could pray." But his love, according 
to the lecturer, was cruelty, and his prayer a sham ! ! Let 
no man ever own a friend, however he became his friend, of 
dubious opinions. The lecturer is cautious. Miss Martineau 
sent her mind into a diseased cow, and it was healed. Pope 
and Bolingbroke must have sent theirs into Swift, and he was 
Bolingbroked and Poped to the utmost corruption and defile- 
ment. We may here as well ask how poor Swift was 
positively to know the ultimate sceptical opinions of Boling- 
broke ? They were published in his works, by Mallet, after 
his lordship's death. 

Johnson doubted not the sincerity of Swift's religion. He 
vidicates the Tale of a Tub, which Mr Thackeray makes a text 
for his vituperation, from " ill intention." " He was a Church- 
man rationally zealous." " To his duty as a Dean he was 
very attentive." " In his church he restored the practice of 
weekly communion, and distributed the sacramental elements 
in the most solemn and devout manner with his own hands. 
He came to his church every morning, preached commonly in 
his turn, and attended the evening anthem, that it might not 
be negligently performed." Swift himself spoke disparag- 
ingly of his sermons. • Mr Thackeray does more than take 
him at his word ; he pronounces that " they have scarce a 
Christian characteristic. They might be preached from the 
steps of a synagogue, or the floor of a mosque, or the box of 

Q 



242 THACKERAY'S LECTURES— SWIFT. 

a coffeehouse almost. There is little or no cant ; he is too 
great and too proud for that ; and, so far as the badness of 
his sermons goes, he is honest." Is Mr Thackeray really a 
judge of "Christian characteristics?" or does he pronounce 
without having read Swift's sermon on the Trinity, so much 
and so deservedly admired, and certainly of a Christian char- 
acter ? But of these sermons quite as good a judge is Samuel 
Johnson as our lecturer, who says, " This censure of himself, 
if judgment be made from those sermons which have been 
printed, was unreasonably severe." Johnson ascribes the 
suspicion of irreligionto his dread of hypocrisy. Mr Thackeray 
makes hypocrisy Swift's religion. Even the essayist in the 
Times, who considers him a madman from his birth, admits 
him to have been " sincerely religious, scrupulously attentive 
to the duties of his holy office, vigorously defending the 
position and privileges of his order : he positively played into 
the hands of infidelity, by the steps he took, both in his con- 
duct and writings, to expose the cant and hypocrisy which he 
detested as heartily as he admired and practised unaffected 
piety." If, then, according to this writer, there was a mis- 
take, it was not of his heart. What different judgments, and 
of so recent dates — a sincerely religious man, of practical 
unaffected piety, and, per contra, a long-life hypocrite before 
Heaven. We may well say, " Look on this picture and on 
this." Eeflect, reader, upon the double title-page to the Life of 
Tiberius, on the mysteries of every man's life ; and the seeming 
contradictions which can never be explained here. A simple 
truth might explain them, but truth hides itself, and historians 
and biographers cannot afford time for accurate search, nor 
the reading world patience for the delays which truth's nar- 
rative would demand. 

The Tale of a Tub, it has been said, was the obstacle to 
Swift's preferment — it may have been the ostensible excuse. 
If the Duchess of Somerset went down on her knees to prevent 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 243 

a bishopric being offered him, another excuse was wanted 
than the real one. It was ascribed to Swift that he had 
ridiculed her red hair : such a crime is seldom forgiven. But 
the " spretcB injuria format" will not be producible as an 
objection. This Tale of a Tub has been often condemned and 
excused, and will be while literature lasts, and is received 
amongst persons of different temperaments. There are some 
so grave that wit is condemned by them before they know 
the subject upon which it is exercised. To many it is folly, 
because beyond their conception. We know no reason why 
the man of wit should not be religious ; if there be, wit is a 
crime ; yet it is a gift of nature, and so imperative upon the 
possessor that he can scarcely withhold it. It is his genius. 
Wit has its logical forms of argument. Errors in religion, as 
in manners, present themselves to the man of wit both in 
a serious and ludicrous light ; the two views combine, there 
is the instant flash for illumination or destruction. The cor- 
ruptions in a church, as in that of Eome, being the growth 
of ages, engrafted into the habits and manners of a people, 
are not to be put down by solemn sermons only: arguments in 
a new and captivating manner must be adopted, and applied to 
the ready understanding and familiar common-sense of those 
on whom more grave and sedate argumentation is lost. 

The Eeformers were not remiss to take wit as an ally. Even 
now, those who are temporarily shocked at the apparent light- 
ness with which it was employed in former days, as they read 
works such as the Tale of a Tub may have received with it 
solid arguments, never so vividly put to them, and which are 
still excellent preservatives against Eomanism. The enemy 
who does not like it will call it ribaldry, buffoonery, and 
magnify it into a deadly sin. The vituperation of it marks its 
power. This kind of writing, even on the gravest subjects, 
is more defensible than those who are hurt by it will admit. 
In a state of warfare (and church is militant), we must not 



244 THACKERAY'S LECTURES SWIFT. 

throw away legitimate arms. If wit be a gift, it is a legiti- 
mate weapon, and a powerful one. It deals terrible blows on 
the head of hypocrisy. YTe owe to it more perhaps than we 
think. It may be fairly asked, Were the Provincial Letters 
injurious to the cause of religion ? The Epistolce Obscurorum 
Virorum helped to demolish some strongholds of iniquity. 
Kabelais, disgusting as he is to modern readers in too many 
parts, was acceptable to bishops and archbishops. They 
pardoned much for the depth of sense, knowledge of mankind, 
and solid learning in the curate of Meudon. There are 
offences against taste, that are not necessarily offences against 
religion. There is many an offensive work, especially in 
modern literature, where taste is guarded and religion hurt. 
Is there a natural antipathy between wit and religion, or 
between wit and morals ? "We trust not ; for by wit all 
mankind may be reached — at least those who can be reached 
by no other appeal, to whom that may be the first, though 
not the last. In times of controversy all must come into the 
field, the light-armed as well as the heavy-armed, and they 
must use their own weapons. David slew Goliah with a pebble 
and a sling. He had tried these; they were scorned by the 
giant, but they slew him. But this genius of wit is imperative, 
and unless you shut the church-doors against it, and anathe- 
matise it (and to do so would be dangerous), it will throw 
about its weapons. Danger cannot put it down. It has its 
minor seriousness, though you see it not ; it has its deep 
wisdom, and such an abundance of gravity, that it can afford 
to play with it. It bids the man endowed with it use it even 
upon the scaffold, as did Sir Thomas More. Admit that, if 
it is a power for good or evil, that very admission legitima- 
tises it. The infidel, the scoffer, will use it, and he will be 
in the enemy's camp. Yes, we must have, in the gravest 
cause, our sharpshooters too. There have been buffoons for 
the gravest purposes as for the vilest. It is well to be 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 245 

cautious in condemning all. Demosthenes could not prevail 
upon the people of Athens to give attention to him where 
their safety was concerned, and he abandoned his serious- 
ness, and told them a story of the " shadow of an ass." 
Buffoonery may be a part put on — the disguise, but the 
serious purpose is under it. Brutus was an able actor. A 
man may be allowed to put on a madness, when it would be 
death to proclaim himself, so as to be believed, in his senses. 
What shall we say of the grave buffoon, the wittiest, the 
wisest, the patriotic, who risked his life to play the fool, 
because he knew it was the only means of convincing the 
people, when he, Aristophanes, could not get an actor to take 
the part of Cleon, and took it himself, not knowing but that 
a cup of poison awaited him when the play was ended ? It 
is as well to come to the conclusion that the wit, even the 
buffoon, may be respectable — nay, give them a higher name 
— even great characters. Their gifts are instincts, are 
meant for use. As the poet says, they cut in twain weighty 
matters : " Magnas plerumque secant res " We fear that if 
we were to drive the lighter soldiers of wit out of the reli- 
gions camp, those enlisted on the opposite side would set up 
a shout, rush in, and, setting about them lustily, have things 
pretty much their own way. Apply this as at least an 
apology for Swift. You must have the man with his wit — it 
was his uncontrollable passion. And, be it remembered, 
when he conceived, if not wrote, the Tale of a Tub, he was 
in the riotous spirit of his youth. And abstract from it its 
wondrous argument, deep sense of illustration, and weigh 
them, how ponderous the mass is, how able to crush the long 
age -constructed machinery of designing Popery ! But heavy 
as is the abstract, it would have lain inert matter, but for 
those nicely-adjusted springs of wit, which, light as they 
seem, lift buoyantly the ponderous power, that it may fall 
where directed. If any have a Bomish tendency, we would 



246 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

recommend him to read the Tale of a Tub, without fear that 
it will take religion out of his head or his heart. We per- 
fectly agree with Johnson as to the intention, in contradic- 
tion to Mr Thackeray, who says : " The man who wrote that 
wild book could not but be aware what must be the sequel 
of the propositions he laid down." And thus is it cruelly 
added : " It is my belief that he suffered frightfully from the 
consciousness of his own scepticism, and that he had bent 
his pride so far down as to put his apostacy out to hire." 
Charity, which " believeth all things," never believed that. 

The virtues reign by turns in this world of ours. Each 
one is the Queen Quintessence of her time, and commands a 
fashion upon her subjects. They bear the hue of her livery 
in their aspects. What is in their bosoms it is not so easy 
to determine ; their tongues are obedient to the fashion, and 
often join in chorus of universal cant. Philanthropy is now 
the common language, we doubt if it is the common doing, 
of the age. We are rather suspicious of it, not very well 
liking its connections, equality and fraternity, and suspect it 
to be of a spurious breed, considering some of its exhibitions 
on the stage of the world within the memory of many of us. 
As the aura popularis has been long, and is still blowing 
rather strong from that quarter, it may appear " brutal " to 
say a syllable per contra. There never was a fitter time to 
lift up the hands and eyes in astonishment at Swift's misan- 
thropy. See the monster, how he hated mankind ! Perhaps 
he was a misanthrope. That he was a good hater we verily 
believe, but for a misanthrope he was one of the kindest to 
those who deserved and needed his assistance. It is said of 
him that he made the fortunes of forty families — that when 
he had power, he exerted it to the utmost, perseveringly to 
advance the interests of this or that man, and did many acts 
of benevolence secretly and delicately ; — witness his pay- 
ment to Mrs Dingley of £52 per annum, which he made her 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 247 

believe was her own ; and lie paid it as her agent for money 
in the funds, and took her receipt accordingly, and this was 
not known till after his death. Very numerous are the 
anecdotes of this nature, but here we have no space for them. 
Such misanthropes are not very bad people — even though, 
detesting the assumption of uncommon philanthropy, they 
put on now and then a little roughness, as Swift undoubtedly 
did, and many very kind people very often do. But he 
wrote Gulliver, that bitter satire on mankind, for which Mr 
Thackeray the lecturer is greatly shocked at him. " As for 
the moral, I think it is horrible, shameful, unmanly, blas- 
phemous ; and, giant and great as this Dean is, I say we 
should hoot him." Certainly hoot him — pelt him out of 
your Vanity Fair, which, though bad enough, is far too good 
for him, for the law there is to treat bad mankind very ten- 
derly, and to make the good come off but second best, and 
look a trifle ridiculous. There have been strong vigorous 
satirists, universally read and admired, and made the stock 
literature of all countries too, and the authors have been 
hitherto thought highly moral and dignified characters ; and 
they were personal, too, as ever Swift was (not that we 
admire his personalities — they were part his, and part 
belonged to his time), and their language as coarse. What 
are we to say of Juvenal, if we condemn Swift on that score ? 
What of his sixth and tenth satires ? The yahoo for man- 
kind is not more hideous than the Tabraca monkey, which 
so frightfully represents men's old age, in that famous tenth 
satire on the " Vanity of Human Wishes." It is, indeed, a 
morbid philanthropy, a maudlin philanthropy, that will not 
give detested vices the lash. What is brutal vice ? — 
degraded human nature, such as our police courts have of 
late exhibited it, our Cannons,* and kickers, and beaters 

* Cannon — a brute tried at the time this Essay was written for a ferocious 
attack on a constable. 



248 Thackeray's LECTURES — SWIFT. 

of women — the Burkers of our times, murderers for trie sake 
of body- selling, to whom yahoos are as far better creatures. 
Yet, in our philanthropic days, we must not compare man to 
low animals. Indeed, we make companion of the faithful 
dog — we pet the obedient horse — we love them — -and we are 
better for the affection we bestow, and it is in a great 
degree perhaps reciprocal ; but such brutes in human shape, 
we shrink from comparing our dumb friends with. They 
have made themselves an antipathy to human nature,' and 
our nature an antipathy to them. 

One would think, to hear some people talk about this 
Gulliver, that Swift had originated such hideous comparisons 
with the brute creation, and that he alone had brought his 
animali parlanti on the stage. Chaucer, whom everybody 
loves, makes the cock say, as thus Dryden says it for him : — 

' ' And I with pleasure see 
Man strutting on two legs, and aping me." 

Cock and Fox. 

But let us put the matter thus : In depicting the lowest 
vices of human nature, Swift, like Hogarth, made them 
appear more odious, and the former less offensive, by at least 
ideally or rather formally removing them from our species. 
The transforming them to brutes in something like human 
shape, renders the human image less distinct ; covers them 
with a gauze, through which you can bear the sight, and 
contemplate what brutalised human nature may become. 
The satirist Hogarth is as strong, and by too near a resem- 
blance, more disgusting, yet is he a great moralist. Is the 
Yahoo of Swift worse, or so offensive to our pride, as the 
heroes and heroines of " Beer and Gin Alley," or the cruelty 
scenes of Hogarth ? Yet who ever called these doings of the 
painter- satirist " shameful, unmanly, blasphemous." Hoot 
hirrij Mr Lecturer, hoot both or neither. No — the hoot of 
the Lecturer was nothing but a little oratorical extravagance, 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 249 

for an already indignant audience, touched upon that tender 
modern virtue, general philanthropy. Out of his lectures, 
the lecturer is a true, good, loving, kind-hearted, generous 
man ; his real " hoot " would sound as gently as the " roar " 
of any " sucking dove." But at a lecture-table, the audience 
must be indulged in their own ways. The lecturer puts by 
his nature and puts on his art. He is acting the magician 
for the moment, and not himself, and thus his art excuses to 
him this patting on the back our mock philanthropy ; mock, 
for it is out of nature, and not real. Honest genuine nature 
is indignant, and has an impulse as its instinct to punish 
villany. Who ever read history, and did not wish a Cossar 
Borgia hanged? Philanthropists are very near being 
nuisances ; they go out of the social course, which runs in 
circles — at first small ones too, home. There is room for 
the exercise of plenty of charity, amiableness, goodness ; 
where is the need a man should burthen himself with the 
whole census ? We live for the most part in circles, and if 
we do good, true, and serviceable duty within them, it little 
matters if some, with a pardonable eccentricity, deem them 
magic circles, and that all on the outside of the circumference 
are fiends ready to leap in open-mouthed to devour them. 
Professing philanthropists are apt to have too little thought 
of what is nearest, and to stretch out beyond the natural 
reach of their arms. They are breakers into other people's 
circles, and perpetually guilty of a kind of affectionate 
burglary — and therefore not punishable, but to be pitied as 
a trifle insane. Poor Swift! how his friends wept at his 
last sad condition, which the hard hearts who knew him not, 
a century and a half after, choose to call Heaven's punish- 
ment, and his misery a " remorse." How his true friends 
grieved for him ! and such friends, too — men of generous 
natures that lift humanity out of that, its vexatious condition, 
which provokes universal satire. He had a circle of friends 



250 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

whom lie dearly loved, and who as dearly loved him. No 
matter how many yahoos go to the whipping-post. Take 
care of the home circles, and ever keep the temper sweet in 
that temperate zone, which the natural course of society has 
provided for you ; and be sure the world won't be a bit 
worse off, if you light your cigar at your own hearth, and 
pleasantly write a pretty sharp satire on the world at large. 
We know not if it is not a fair position to lay down, that all 
satirists are amiable men ; our best have been eminently so. 
Poor gentle Cowper, in his loving frenzy, wielded the knout 
stoutly, and had it been in his religion, would have whipped 
himself like a pure Franciscan ; and yet he loved his 
neighbour. And it is our belief that Swift was good and 
amiable, and as little like a yahoo as those who depict him 
as one. Nature gave him a biting power, and it was her 
instinct that made him rise it; and what if he exaggerated ? 
It is the poet's license. What did Juvenal? and what did 
he more than Juvenal ? Oh, this at once bold and squeamish 
age ! — bold to do bad things, and to cry out against having 
them told or punished, but delighting in dressing up an 
imaginary monster and ticketing it with the name of Jonathan 
Swift, dead a century ago ! ! 

And was there so little vice and villany in the world in 
Swift's time, or in Hogarth's time, that it should have been 
allowed to escape ? Party was virulent and merciless, and 
divided men, so that statesmen had no time to care for good 
public morals. To be a defeated minister was to be sent to 
the Tower, as Swift's friend Harley was, and kept there two 
years. They were corrupt times — yahoo times. What says 
the sober historian, the narrator of facts, about 1717 ? There 
are accounts of the " Mug-houses," when the Whig and 
Tory factions divided the nation. There was the attack on 
these Mug-houses, retaliations and riots, and there were 
11 Mohocks," of which we read too pleasantly now in the 






THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 251 

Spectator, who went about with drawn swords, and kept the 
city in terror. It is somewhere about the year 1730 of which 
the historian speaks thus : — 

" A great remissness of government prevailed at this time in 
England. Peace both at home and abroad continued to be the 
great object of the minister. Prosperity in commerce introduced 
luxury — hence necessities were created, and these drove the lower 
classes of people into the most abandoned wickedness. Averse to 
all penal and sanguinary measures, the minister gave not that 
encouragement to the ordinary magistrates that would enable 
them to give an effectual check to vice among the multitude. 
This produced a very pernicious effect among the higher class, so 
that almost universal degeneracy of manners prevailed. It was 
not safe to travel the roads or walk the streets ; and often the 
civil officers themselves dared neither to repel the violences nor 
punish the crimes that were committed. A species of villains 
now started up, unknown to former times, who made it their 
business to write letters to men of substance, threatening to set 
fire to their houses in case they refused their demands ; and 
sometimes their threats were carried into execution. In short, 
the peculiar depravity of the times became at length so alarming 
that the government was obliged to interpose, and a considerable 
reward was offered for discovering the ruffians concerned in such 
execrable practices." * 

If Swift's miseries were so large as to make Archbishop 
King shed tears, and pronounce him the most unhappy man 
on earth, on the subject of whose wretchedness no question 
may be asked ; and if, remembering this, we reflect upon his 
great and active doings, it will not be without admiration 
that we shall see how manfully he strove against being 
overwhelmed with inevitable calamities ; and if we think 
him too much inclined to view mankind ill, we should reflect 
that he lived in such times as we have been describing, and 
had ill-treatment enough from mankind to render his best 
struggles for contentment at times hard, and that he pre- 
served his friendships to the last. 

The fortuitous disappointments of life may be borne with 

* Russell's History of England. 



252 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

a humble patience, the virtue in misery ; the disappointments 
which our fellow- creatures inflict by their falseness and 
wickedness, are apt in a degree to make generous natures 
misanthropic ; but even then their best feelings do but 
retreat from their advanced posts — retire within, and cling 
with greater love and resolution to the home fortress, fortified 
and sustained by a little army of dear friends. So it was 
with Swift : out in the world he was the traveller Gulliver 
— but the best friendships made his world his home. Even 
in the strictest sense of home, such a home as Swift had, of 
so strange a home-love, we know not to what great degree 
we should look on that with pity. It is to be hoped, not one 
of his revilers have had his miseries — which even his friend 
was with tears requested not to look into. 

The animosities of Whigs and Tories were extreme. 
Swift declared himself a Whig in politics, a Tory as high- 
churchman. In the course of political experience, it is 
evident one of the principles must give way. Swift saw to 
what the Whig policy tended -. the higher interests prevailed 
with him — he joined the Tories. Giant as he was, we are 
not surprised at the strong expressions of the essayist whom 
we have before quoted : " Under Harley, Swift reigned, Swift 
was the Government, Swift was Queen, Lords, and Commons. 
There was tremendous work to do, and Swift did it all." 
We do not mean to say Swift was not a thorough man of the 
world ; nor that he did not look to his own interests, as men 
of the world do ; but at the same time, it would be hard to 
show that he was profligate as to political principle. He 
may have changed his views, or political principles may 
have shifted themselves. We firmly believe him to have 
been honest. But he left the Whig ranks. Having done 
so, he was too great not to be feared, and so hated — and is 
it too much to say that this Whig hatred with regard to him 
has come down to our day, and unforgiving as it is, as it 






THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 253 

cannot persecute the man, persecutes his memory? It is 
next to impossible not to see that political rancour has 
directed and dipped into its own malignant gall the pen of 
Lord Jeffrey, who in that essay, which has now become 
cheap railway reading, heaps all possible abuse on Swift, 
ascribing to him all bad motives — is furiously wroth with 
him even now, because he abandoned the Whigs. It is the 
very burden of his vituperative essay. He (Swift) is a 
political apostate, and a libeller of the Whigs against his 
conscience ; and this, Lord Jeffrey gathers from his letters. 
Indeed ! and was it in Lord Jeffrey's mind so dreadful an 
offence (if true) this writing against his conscience, and to 
be discovered in private letters, at supposed variance with 
published documents, by this said Dean? We fear Lord Jef- 
rey was not aware that he was passing a very severe censure 
upon his own conduct when he wrote thus of Swift; for we 
remember reading a letter by the said Lord Jeffrey in entire 
contradiction to that which, as Editor of the Edinburgh 
Review, he had given out to the world. In this private 
letter, published in his " Life," he writes in perfect terror, 
and in the deepest despair of the nation, arising from the 
dangerous tendency of articles in that Review, with, as we 
conceive, a very poor apology, that he could not restrain his 
ardent writers. Party blinded him then, and thus he vents 
his rancour further, forgetful of the lampoons of the Whig 
Tom Moore, the Twopenny Post-bag, and a long list — and of 
the Whig Byron, and his doings in that line. " In all situa- 
tions the Tories have been the greatest libellers, and, as is 
fitting, the great prosecutors of libels." Lord Jeffrey, when 
he wrote this, was as forgetful of his own party as of himself 
in particular — of the many personalities in his own review, 
as of Whig writings. Unfortunately for them, they were not 
so gifted with wit as their opponents, but their malignity on 
that account was the greater. What is to be said of Lord 



254 THACKERAY'S LECTURES SWIFT. 

Holland's note-book ? But Lord Jeffrey was not the one 
condemn, however others might be justified in doing so, even 
personal libels, which, in his own case, as editor and political 
Whig agent, he justifies, and, more than that, sets up a 
principle to maintain his justification. It would appear that 
one of his contributors had been shocked at the personal 
libels in the Edinburgh, and had remonstrated. Jeffrey thus 
defends the practice : "To come, for instance, to the attacks 
on the person of the Sovereign. Many people, and I profess 
myself to be one, may think such a proceeding at variance 
with the dictates of good taste, of dangerous example, and 
repugnant to good feelings ; and therefore will not them- 
selves have recourse to it." (Here his memory should have 
hinted — 

" Qui facit per alium facit per se.") 

" Yet," he continues, " it would be difficult to deny that it is, 
or may be, a lawful weapon to be employed in the great and 
eternal contest between the court and the country. Can 
there be any doubt that the personal influence and personal 
character of the Sovereign is an element, and a pretty im- 
portant element, in the practical constitution of the govern- 
ment, and always forms part of the strength or weakness of 
the administration he employs ? In the abstract, therefore, 
I cannot think that attempts to weaken that influence, to 
abate a dangerous popularity, or even to excite odium 
towards a corrupt and servile ministry, by making the 
prince, on whose favour they depend, generally contemptible 
or hateful, are absolutely to be interdicted or protested 
against. Excesses, no doubt, may be committed. But the 
system of attacking abuses of power, by attacking the per- 
son who instigates or carries them through by general 
popularity or personal influence, is lawful enough, I think, 
and may form a large scheme of Whig opposition — not the best 
or the noblest part, certainly, but one not without its use, 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 255 

and that may, on some occasions, be altogether indispen- 
sable." — Letter to Francis Horner, Esq., 12th March 1815. 

The semi-apologetic qualifying expressions " against 
good taste and feeling," only make one smile, as showing 
the clear sin against conscience, in thus falling into or re- 
commending the large scheme of Whig opposition. One 
might imagine him to have been one of Mr Puff's conspira- 
tors in his tragedy, who had manufactured from the play a 
particularly Whig party- prayer — a prayer to their god of 
battle, whoever he was, certainly one a mighty assistant in 
such conspiracies. 

" Behold thy votaries submissive beg, 

That thou wilt deign to grant them all they ask ; 
Assist them to accomplish all their ends, 
And sanctify whatever means they use 
To gain them." — The Critic. , . 

Every one will now agree, of course, with Lord Jeffrey, that 
the Tories have ever been the great libellers ! ! ! 

Was it ever known that Tom Moore, or even the editor of 
the Edinburgh Review, were prosecuted ! ! We do not justify- 
Swift in all his libels — some bad enough. They were strange 
times, and of no common license ; and who was more 
licentiously attacked than Swift himself? And he knew how 
to retaliate, and he did it terribly and effectually. Many 
badly-written things were ascribed to Swift which he did not 
write. But we must not take the code of manners of one 
age, and a more refined age, and utterly condemn, by refer- 
ence to them, the manners of another, as a chargeable offence 
against an individual. Much that Swift wrote could not be 
written now ; much that was written by Mr Thackeray's 
other " Humourists " could not be written now ; and yet the 
objections are on the score of manners wanting in refinement, 
and not that morals were offended. In Swift's time, both in 
literature and politics, men wrote coarsely, and acted some- 



256 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

what coarsely too ; for they wrote in disgust, which was 
scarcely lessened by a fear of the pillory. Ketaliations were 
severe. De Foe, who knew well what political prosecution 
was, wrote thus on Lord Haversham's speech : " But fate, 
that makes foot-balls of men, kicks some up stairs and some 
down ; some are advanced without honour, others suppressed 
without infamy ; some are raised without merit, some are 
crushed without crime ; and no man knows, by the begin- 
ning of things, whether his course shall issue in a peerage or 
a pillory" — in most witty and satiric allusion to Lord Haver- 
sham's and his own condition. Swift's Account of the Court 
and Empire of Japan, written in 1728, is no untrue repre- 
sentation of the factions and ministerial profligacy of that 
period. The Dean, as an Irish patriot — for he heartily took 
up the cause of Ireland — was persecuted, and a reward of 
£300 offered for the discovery of the author of one of the 
Drapier's Letters. The anecdote told on this occasion is 
very characteristic of Swift. He was too proud to live in 
fear of any man. His butler, whom alone he trusted, con- 
veyed these letters to the printer. When the proclamation 
of reward came out, this servant strolled from the house, and 
staid out all night and part of next day. It was feared he 
had betrayed his master. When he returned, the Dean 
desired him instantly to strip himself of his livery, and 
ordered him to leave the house ; " For," says he, "I know 
my life is in your power, and I will not bear, out of fear, 
either your insolence or negligence." The man was, how- 
ever, honest and humble, and even desirous to be confined till 
the danger should be over. But his master turned him out. 
The sequel should be told. When the time of information 
had expired, he received the butler again ; and " soon after- 
wards ordered him and the rest of the servants into his 
presence, without telling his intentions, and bade them take 
notice that their fellow- servant was no longer Eobert the 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 257 

butler, but that his integrity had made him Mr Blakeney, 
Verger of St Patrick's, whose income was between thirty 
and forty pounds a-year." As it has fallen in the way to 
give this narrative of his conduct to a deserving servant, it 
may not be amiss, in this place, to offer a pendant ; and it 
may be given the more readily, as those who wish to view 
him as a misanthropic brute, and they who would commend 
him for his humanity, may make it their text for their praise 
or their abuse. " A poor old woman brought a petition to 
the deanery ; the servant read the petition, and turned her 
about her business. Swift saw it, and had the woman 
brought in, warmed and comforted with bread and wine, and 
dismissed the man for his inhumanity." 

To revert, however, to his political course. When the 
Tory Ministry was broken up, he never swerved from his 
friendships, nor did he court one probable future minister at 
the expense of the other. Indeed, at the beginning of the 
break-up, he clung the more closely to Harley, the dismissed 
minister. But even this conduct has been misrepresented, 
by those who viewed all his actions upside down, as a deep 
policy, that he might be sure of a friend at court whichever 
side might ultimately win. 

That he might appear wanting in no possible impossible 
vice, avarice has been added to the number adduced. Even 
Johnson charges his economy upon his " love of a shilling." 
This does appear to us, after much examination of data, a very 
gratuitous accusation. His early habits were necessarily 
those of a poor man ; he never was a rich one ; and he was far 
above the meanness of enlarging his means at the expense of 
his deanery, its present interests, or of his successor, by any 
selfish regard to fines. Due economy is often taken to be 
avarice. Nor does it follow that reasonable parsimony, when 
constantly practised for a worthy purpose, is avarice. Such 
avarice is at least not uncommon in great and good minds. 

R 



258 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

Swift so often made it known that he had a good object, and 
also fulfilled it, that it seems quite malicious to forget his 
motives, and to ascribe his by no means large accumulations 
to a miserly disposition. He did not, in fact, after all, leave 
a very ample endowment for his hospital for the insane. The 
first £500 which he could call his own he devoted to loans, 
in small sums, to poor yet industrious men. Had he been 
avaricious, he might have accumulated a fortune by his 
writings. A very small sum (we believe for his Gulliver) 
was the only payment received for all his writings. Had he 
been naturally avaricious, he would not have returned, with 
marked displeasure, a donation sent him by Harley. There 
was a sturdy manliness in his pride which forbade him to 
incur serious debt ; and this pride caused him to measure 
nicely, or rather say frugally, his expenditure. He had, in- 
deed, a " love of a shilling," as he ought to have had, for 
he knew for what purpose he husbanded it. We know an 
instance of seeming parsimony that originated in, and was 
itself, an admirable virtue. It was in rather humble life. 
The man had given up his little patrimony — his all — to the 
maintenance of two sisters, whom he truly loved ; and when he 
went out into the world, trusting to his industry alone, he 
made a vow to himself that the half of every shilling he could 
save should go to his sisters. This man drove hard bargains ; 
by habit he came to think that what he spent idly was a half 
robbery. Many a hard name, doubtless, was cast at this 
tender-hearted man in his progress through little- knowing 
and ill-judging society. 

We do not attempt a delineation of Swift's character. We 
are conscious that it was too great for our pen. It must be a 
deep philosophy that is able to search into such a mind, and 
bring all the seeming contradictions into order, and sift his 
best qualities, from their mixture of eccentricities, from a 
real or imaginary insanity. This part of the subject has been 



THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 259 

ably treated, and with medical discrimination, by Mr Wilde 
in his Closing Years of Dean Swift's Life, from whose work we 
gladly quote some just animadversions upon his vituperators. 

" To the slights thrown upon his memory by the Jeffreys, 
Broughams, Macaulays, De Quinceys, and other modern 
literati, answers and refutations have been already given. 
Of these attacks, which exhibit all the bitterness of con- 
temporary and personal enmity, it is only necessary to 
request a careful analysis, when they will be found to be 
gross exaggerations of some trivial circumstances, but writ- 
ten in all the unbecoming spirit of partisanship ; while the 
opinions of his contemporaries, Harley, Bolingbroke, Pope, 
Arbuthnot, Delany, &c, are a sufficient guarantee for the 
opinion which was entertained of Swift by those who knew 
him best and longest." 

It was well said, with reference to Jeffrey's article in the 
Edinburgh Review, " but Swift is dead, as Jeffrey well knew 
when he reviewed his w T orks." If men of mark will be so 
unjust, unscrupulous, uncharitable, as to apply " base 
perfidy " to such a man as Swift, no wonder if the small fry 
of revilers, whose lower minds could never by any possibility 
rise to the conception of such a character as Swift, should 
lift their shrieking voices to the same notes, as if they would 
claim a vain consequence by seeming to belong to the pack. 
Mr Howitt alludes to the discarded story which we have 
noticed, the slander at Kilroot, and grounds upon it a charge 
of " dissipated habits " in his youth. This writer, lacking 
the ability and influence of the superior libellers, gives vent 
to such expressions as " selfish tyranny," "wretched shuffler," 
" contemptible fellow." 

It is a vile thing, this vice of modern times — this love of 
pulling down the names of great men of a past age — of 
blotting and slurring over every decent epitaph written in 
men's hearts about them. That men of note themselves 



260 THACKERAY'S LECTURES— SAVIFT. 

should fall into it, is but a sad proof that rivalry and parti- 
sanship in politics make the judgment unjust. We remember 
the reproof Canning gave to Sir Samuel Eomilly, no common 
man, who indeed acknowledged Mr Pitt's talents, but denied 
that he was a great man. " Heroic times are these we live 
in," said Canning, " with men at our elbow of such gigantic 
qualities as to render those of Pitt ordinary in the compari- 
son. Ah ! who is there living, in this house or out of it, 
who, taking measure of his own mind or that of his coevals, 
can be justified in pronouncing that William Pitt was not a 
great man ? " Of all our modern revilers of Swift, the pullers 
to pieces of his fame and character, is there any that might 
not shrink from putting his own measure of either to the 
comparison? Political hatred lasts too long — it reverses 
the law of canonisation : if there is to be worship, it must be 
immediate. A century destroys it ; but enmity survives. 

• ■ Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, 
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on," &c. 

We commenced with the intention of reviewing Mr 
Thackeray's Lectures, but have stopped short at his life of 
Swift, and yet feel that we have but touched upon the 
subject-matter relating to that great man ; and hope to refer 
to it, with some notice and extracts from his works, at a 
future time. 

And what is Swift? Yv r hat is any dead man that we 
should defend his name, which is nothing but a name — and 
not that to him t What is Swift to us, more than " Hecuba" 
to the poor player, or " he to Hecuba," that we should rise 
with indignation to plead his cause ? Praise or blame to the 
man dead a century and more, is nothing for him, no, nor to 
any one of his race (for affections of that kind are lost in a 
wide distribution.) Shakespeare makes even honour of a 
shorter date. " What is honour to him who died o' Wednes- 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 261 

day?" Very soon individual man melts away from his 
individuality, and merges into the general character ; he 
becomes quite an undistinguishable part of the whole gene- 
ration ; his appearance unknown. Could the great and the 
small visit us from the dead — they who " rode on white 
asses," and they who were gibbeted — they whom the " king 
delighted to honour," and they whom the hangman handled 
— there is no " usher of black rod " that could call them out 
by their names. Their individualities are gone — their names 
must go in search of them in vain — they will fasten nowhere 
with certainty — none know which is which. Let Csesar 
come with his murderers, and who shall tell which is fesar ? 
After a generation, there is no one on earth to grieve for the 
guilty or unfortunate, unless in a fiction or tale. We laugh 
at the weeping lady who puts her tears to the account of the 
" anniversary of the death of poor dear Queen Elizabeth." 
Feelings and affections of past ages are all gone, and become 
but a cold history, that the poet or the romance-writer may 
warm again in their sport. They no longer belong to those 
who had them. While memory and affection last there is 
a kind of vitality, but it soon goes. " Non omnis moriar " 
is a motto to be translated elsewhere. The atmosphere of 
fame, for this earth, rises, like that we breathe, but a little 
way above it, and is ever shifting. 

But if the individual thus melts away, not so the general 
character; that will remain — and in that the living are 
concerned. We deem it a part of a true philanthropy if we 
can pull out one name from the pit of defamation into which 
it has been unhandsomely thrust, and can place it upon the 
record of our general nature, that our common humanity 
may be raised, and, as much as may be, glorified thereby. 
Such has been our motive (for with this motive alone is 
Swift anything to us), and we hope we have succeeded in 
rescuing one of nature's great men from unmerited obloquy. 



262 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

. We have spoken freely of Mr Thackeray's Lectures, with 
reference to his character of Swift. 

We believe that he has unfortunately followed a lead ; and, 
in so doing, has been encouraged to a bias by his natural 
gift — satire. We say not this to his dispraise. Like other 
natural gifts, the satiric puts out ever its polyp feelers, and 
appropriates whatever comes within its reach, and promises 
nutriment. It is not indeed likely, in this our world, to be 
starved for lack of sustenance ; nor would society be the 
better if it were. But we do doubt if it be quite the talent 
required in a biographer. We would not have Mr Thackeray 
abate one atom of the severity of his wit ; and we believe 
him to have an abhorrence of everything vicious, mean, and 
degrading, and that his purpose in all his writings is to make 
vice odious. He habitually hunts that prey : having seen 
the hollowness of professions, he drives his merciless pen 
through it, and sticks the culprit upon its point, and draws 
him out upon the clean sheet, and blackens him, and laughs 
at the figure he has made of him. A writer of such a stamp 
ought to be considered, what he really is, a moralist — there- 
fore a benefactor in our social system. 

But with this power, let him touch the living vices till they 
shrink away cowed. The portraiture of the vices of men who 
lived a century or more ago, real or imaginary, may only 
serve to feed the too flagrant vice of the living — self-con- 
gratulating vanity. If theu he must write, or lecture, on 
biography, we would earnestly recommend him to do it with 
a fear of himself. His other works have contributed many 
hours of delight to the days of most of us ; and in the little 
volume before us, setting aside his lecture on Swift, there is 
much to amuse and to instruct. The sharp contrasting 
choice of his positions, and easy natural manner, not forcing 
but enticing the reader to reflection, must ever make Mr 
Thackeray a popular writer. Were he less sure of the public 



THACKERAY S LECTURES — SWIFT. 263 

ear, and the public voice in his favour, we should not have 
endeavoured to rescue the character of Swift from his grasp ; 
and we believe him to be of that generous nature to rejoice, 
if we have, as we hope, been successful in the attempt. We 
cannot speak too highly of Mr Thackeray as one most accom- 
plished in his art : his style, eminently English, is unmis- 
takably plain and energetic. It is original — so curt, yet so 
strong ; there is never amplification without a purpose, nor 
without the charm of a new image. Thoughts are clad in 
the words that best suit them. With him, pauses speak ; and 
often a full stop, unexpected in a passage, is eloquent. You 
think that he has not said all, because he has said so little : 
yet that little is all ; and there is left suggestion for feelings 
which words would destroy. He is never redundant. So 
perfect is this his art that his very restraint seems an abandon. 
He knows when and how to gain the credit of forbearance, 
where in fact there is none. In his mastery over this his 
peculiar manner, he brings it to bear upon the pathetic or the 
ridiculous with equal effect ; and, like a consummate satirist, 
makes even the tragic more tragic, more ghastly, by a slight 
connection with the light, the ridiculous, a certain air of in- 
difference. We instance the passage of the death of Rawdon, 
in his Vanity Fair. Few are the words, but there is a his- 
tory in them. The apparent carelessness in dismissing his 
hero reminds one of that in Richard the Third. 

" The Lady Anne hath bade the world good-night." 

His strongest ridicule is made doubly ridiculous by the gravity 
he tacks to it. It sticks like a burr upon the habit of his 
unfortunate victim. He puts the rags of low motives upon 
seeming respectability, and makes presumption look beggarly 
— effecting that which the Latin satirist says real poverty does 
— ridiculos homines facit. Most severe in his indifference, his 
light playfulness is fearfully Dantesque ; it is ever onward, 



264 THACKERAY'S LECTURES — SWIFT. 

as if sure of its catastrophe. We do not know any author 
who can say so much in few common words. These are 
characteristics of genius. It has often been said, and per- 
haps with truth, that the reader shuts the book uncomfortable, 
not very much in love with human nature : we are by no 
means sure that this is absolutely wrong ; such is the feeling 
on looking at Hogarth's pictures. It was the author's inten- 
tion, in both cases, to be a moral satirist, not a romance- 
writer. It has been objected that he allows the vicious too 
much success ; but he may plead that so it is in life : even 
the Psalmist expressed his surprise at the prosperity of the 
wicked. There is truth to the life in this treatment : a cer- 
tain seeming success tells not the whole. It is a more serious 
charge that he has made virtue and goodness insipid. We 
wish he could persuade himself that there is romance in real 
life, and that it is full of energies ; its true portraiture would 
give a grace to his works. Cervantes and Le Sage were not 
all satire ; their beautiful touches of romance hurt not the 
general character of their works ; the fantastic frame-lines 
mar not the pathos of the picture. With this recommenda- 
tion we close our paper, with trust in the good sense and good 
feeling of Mr Thackeray, rejoiced to think that his powerful 
genius is in action : whatever vein he may be in, he will be 
sure to instruct and amuse, and accumulate fame to himself. 
If the virtues do not look their very best, when he ushers 
them into company, at least vice will never have to boast of 
gentle treatment — -he will make it look as it deserves ; and 
if he does not always thrust it out of doors in rags and penury, 
he will set upon it, and leave its further punishment for 
conjecture. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

[SEPTEMBER 1854.] 

It is the common practice of innovators to set up a loud 
cry against long-received opinions which favour them not, 
and the word prejudice is the denunciation of "mad dog." 
But prejudices, like human beings who hold them, are not 
always " so bad as they seem." They are often the action of 
good, natural instincts, and often the results of ratiocinations 
whose processes are forgotten. Let us have no " Apology " 
for a long-established prejudice ; ten to one but it can stand 
upon its own legs, and needs no officious supporter, who 
simply apologises for it. 

We have had philosophers who have told us there is really 
no such thing as beauty, consequently there can be no such 
thing as taste ; that it is a mere idea, an unaccountable preju- 
dice somehow or other engendered in the brain. And though 
there exists not a head in the universe without a portion of 
this disorder-breeding brain, the philosopher persists that 
the product is a worthless nonentity, and altogether out of 
the nature of things. We maintain, however, in favour of 
prejudices and tastes — that there are real grounds for both ; 
and, presuming not to be so wise as to <^eny the evidences of 

An Apology for the Colouring of the Greek Coiirt. By Owen Jones. 
London, 1854. 



266 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

our senses, and conclusions of our minds, think it scarcely 
worth while to unravel the threads of our convictions. In 
matters of science we marvel and can believe almost any- 
thing ; but in our tastes and feelings we naturally, and by an 
undoubting instinct, shrink from the touch of an innovator, 
as we would shun the heel of a donkey. 

Whenever an innovator of this kind sets up "An Apology " 
for his intended folly, we invariably feel that he means a 
very audacious insult upon our best perceptions. The worst 
of it is, he is not one easily put aside — he will labour to get 
a commission into your house, ransack it to its sewers, and 
turn it out of windows. He is the man that must ever be 
doing. He will think himself entitled to perambulate the 
world with his pot of polychrome in his hand, and bedaub 
every man's door-post ; and if multitudes — the whole offended 
neighbourhood — rush out to upset his pot and brush, he 
will laugh in their faces, defend his plastering instruments, 
and throw to them with an air his circular, " An Apology;" 
and perhaps afterwards knock the doors down for an authorised 
payment. Such a one shall get no "Apology "-pence out of us. 

We are prejudiced — we delight in being prejudiced — will 
continue prejudiced as long as we live, and will entertain 
none but prejudiced friends. There are things we will 
believe, and give no reasons for, for ever ; and things we 
never will believe, whatever reasons are to be given in their 
favour. We think the man who said, " Of course, I believe 
it, if you say you saw it ; but I would not believe it if I saw 
it myself," used an irresistible argument of good sound pre- 
judice, mixed with discretion. It is better, safer, and hon- 
ester, to bristle up like a hedgehog, and let him touch who 
dares, than to sit and be smoothed and smoothed over with 
oily handling of sophisticated arguments, till every decent 
palpable roughness of reason is taken from you. 

Reader, do you like white marble? "What a question ! " 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 267 

you will ask — "do you suppose me to have no eyes ? Do not all 
people covet it — import it from Carrara ? Do not sculptors, as 
sculptors have done in all ages, make statues from it — monu- 
ments, ornaments, and costly floors?" Of course, everybody 
loves white marble. Then, reader, if such is your taste, you are 
a prejudiced ignoramus; you belong to that age "devoid of the 
capacity to appreciate and the power to execute works of art" 
■ — that age which certain persons profess to illuminate. You 
are now, under the new dictators of taste, to know that you 
had no business to admire white marble,* — that you are so 
steeped in this old prejudice that it will require a long time 
before you can eradicate this stain of a vile admiration, 
although your teachers have acquired a true knowledge in an 
incredible time. You must put yourself under the great 
colourman of the great Crystal Palace, Mr Owen Jones, 
who, if he does not put out your eyes in the experiments he 
will set before you, will at least endeavour to convince you 
that you are a fool of the first water. But beware how you 
don his livery of motley. Hear him : " Under this influence 
(the admiration of white marble), however, we have been 
born and bred, and it requires time to shake off the trammels 
which such early education leaves." You have sillily be- 
lieved that the Athenians built with marble because of its 
beauty, — that the Egyptians thought there was beauty in 
granite. You thought in your historical dream that he who 
found the city of brick, and left it of marble, had done some- 
thing whereof he might reasonably boast. You have been 
egregiously mistaken. If you ever read that the Greeks and 
Romans, and other people since their times civilised, sent great 
distances for marble for their palaces and statues, you must put 

* White marble. — This contempt of white marble is about as wise as Wal- 
pole's contempt of white teeth, which gave rise to his well-known expression, 
" The gentleman with the foolish teeth." Yet though a people have been 
known to paint their teeth black, white teeth, as white marble, will keep 
their fashion. 



268 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

it down in your note-book of new "historic doubts." You learn 
a fact you never dreamed of, from Mr Owen Jones. They 
merely used it (marble) because it lay accidentally at their feet. 
He puts the richest colouring of his contempt on " the arti- 
ficial value which white marble has in our eyes." Learn the 
real cause of its use : " The Athenians built with marble, 
because they found it almost beneath their feet, and also 
from the same cause which led the Egyptians to employ 
granite, which was afterwards painted — viz. because it was 
the most enduring, and capable of receiving *a higher finish 
of workmanship." He maintains that so utterly regardless 
were these Greeks of any supposed beauty in marble — espe- 
cially white marble — that they took pains to hide every appear- 
ance of its texture ; that they not only painted it all over, but 
covered it with a coating of stucco. Listen to an oracle that, 
we will answer for it, never came from Delphi, that no Pythia 
in her madness ever conceived, and that, if uttered in the 
recesses, would have made Apollo shake his temple to pieces. 

" To what extent were white marble temples painted and 
ornamented ? I would maintain that they were entirely so ; that 
neither the colour of the marble, nor even its surface, was pre- 
served ; and that preparatory to the ornamenting and colouring 
of the surface, the whole was covered with a thin coating of 
stucco, something in the nature of a gilder's ground, to stop the 
absorption of the colours by the marble." 

" A thin coat of stucco !" and no exception with respect 
to statues — to be applied wherever the offensive white 
marble showed its unblushing nakedness and beauty 1 ! Let 
us imagine it tested on a new statue — thus stucco over, 
however thin, Mr Bayley's Eve, or Mr Power's Greek Slave 
— the thought is enough to make the sculptor go mad, and 
commit a murder on himself or the plasterer — to see all his 
fine, his delicate chisellings obliterated ! all the nice mark- 
ings, the scarcely perceptible dimplings, gone ! for let the 
coat of stucco be thin as a wafer, it must, according to that 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 269 

thickness, enlarge every rising and diminish the spaces 
between them : thus all true proportion must be lost ; be- 
tween two risings the space must be less. " What fine 
chisel," says our immortal Shakespeare, " could ever yet cut 
breath?" How did he imagine, in these few words, the 
living motion of the " breath of life" in the statue ! and who 
doubts either the attempt or the success so to represent 
perfect humanity, when he looks at the finest antique 
statues ? Let an audacious innovator dare to daub one of 
them with his coat of stucco, and all the chiselling of the 
life, breath, and motion is annihilated. It must be so, what- 
ever be the thickness of the coat ; though it be but a nail- 
paring it must diminish risings and hollows, and all nicer 
touches must disappear. We should heartily desire to see 
the innovator suffocated in his plaster and paint-pot, that in 
his suffering he may know it is a serious thing to knock the 
life-breath out of the body even of a statue. 

" Nee lex est justior ulla 
Quam necis artifices arte perire sua." 

There is one slight objection to our getting rid of this 
prejudice in favour of white marble which we suggest to 
Mr Owen Jones, and all the " Stainers' " Company — the 
unseemly blots we shall have to make in the fairest pages 
of poetry, old and new. Albums will, of course, be ruined, 
and a general smear, bad asa " coat of stucco," be passed 
over the whole books of beauties who have " dreamed they 
dwelt in marble halls." The new professors, polychromatists, 
must bring out, if they are able, new editions of all our classics. 
How must this passage from Horace provoke their bile — 

" Urit me Glycerse nitor 
Splendentis Pario marmore purius ? " 

And when, after being enchanted by the " grata protervitas," 
he adds the untranslatable line,' 

" Et Vultus nimium lubricus aspici," 



270 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

we can almost believe, with that bad taste which Mr Owen 
Jones will condemn, that he had in the full eye of his 
admiration the polished, delicately denned charm of the 
Parian marble. 

It was a clown's taste to daub the purity ; and first he 
daubed his own face, and the faces of his drunken rabble. 
He would have his gods made as vulgar as himself; and 
then, doubtless, there was many a wooden, worthless idol, 
the half joke and veneration of the senseless clowns, painted 
as fine as vermilion could make them. 

' ' Agricola et minio suffusus, Bacche, rubente. 
Primus inexperta duxit ab arte choros." — Tib. 

But to suppose that Praxiteles and Phidias could endure 
to submit their loveliest works to be stuccoed and solidly 
painted over with vermilion, seems to us to suppose a per- 
fect impossibility. That they could not have willingly 
allowed the defilement we have shown by the nature of 
their work, all the nicety of touch and real proportion of 
parts lying under the necessity of alteration, and conse- 
quently damage, thereby. Whatever apparent proof might 
be adduced that such statues were painted — and we doubt 
the proof, as we will endeavour to show — we do not hesitate 
to say that the daubings and plasterings must have been 
the doing of a subsequent less cultivated people, and 
possibly at the demand of a vulgarised mobocracy. The 
clown at our pantomimes is the successor to the clown who 
smeared his face with wine-lees, and passed his jokes while 
he gave orders to have his idol painted with vermilion. 
Yet though it must be impossible that Phidias or Praxiteles 
would have allowed solid coats of paint or stucco, or both, 
to have ruined the works of their love and genius, under the 
presuming title "historical evidence," an anecdote is culled 
from the amusing gossip Pliny to show what Praxiteles 
thought of it. " There is a passage in Pliny which is de- 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 271 

cisive, as soon as we understand the allusion. Speaking of 
Nicias (lib. xxxv. cap. 11), he says that Praxiteles, when 
asked which of his marble works best satisfied him, replied, 
" Those which Nicias has had under his hands." " So 
much," adds Pliny, " did he prize the finishing of Nicias," — 
(tantum circumlitioni ejus tribuebat). This " finishing of 
Nicias," by its location, professes to be a translation from 
Pliny, which it is not. Had the writer adopted the exact 
wording of the old English translation, from which he seems 
to have taken the former portion of the sentence, it would 
not have suited his purpose, but it would have been more 
fair : it is thus, " So much did he attribute unto his vernish 
and polishing " — which contradicts the solid painting. Pliny 
is rather ambiguous with regard to this Nicias — whether he 
was the celebrated one or no. But it should be noticed 
that the anecdote, as told in Mr Owen Jones' "Apology," 
is intended to show that the painter's skill, as a painter, was 
added — substantially added — to the work of Praxiteles, 
whereas this Nicias may have been one who was nice in 
the making and careful in the use of his varnish ; and we 
readily grant that some kind of varnishing or polishing may 
have been used over the statues, both for lustre and pro- 
tection. Certainly at one time, though we would not say 
there is proof as to the time of Phidias, such varnishes, or 
rather waxings, were in use. Yet even if it were the cele- 
brated Nicias to whom the anecdote refers, we cannot for a 
moment believe he would have touched substantially, as a 
painter, any work of Praxiteles. Yet as genius is ever 
attached to genius, he may have supplied to Praxiteles the 
means of giving that polish which he gave to his own works, 
and probably aided him in the operation, not " had under his 
hands," as translated — " quibus manum admovisset." Pliny 
had in his eye the very modus operandi of the encaustic 
process, the holding heated iron within a certain distance of 



272 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

the object. But what was the operation ? Does the text, 
authorise anything like the painting the statue ? Certainly 
not. And however triumphantly it is brought forward, 
there is a hitch in the argument which must be confessed. 

In making this confession, it would have been as well to 
have referred to Pliny himself for the meaning. Pliny uses 
the verb illinebat in grammatical relation to circumlitio, in the 
sense of varnishing, in that well-known passage in which 
he speaks of the varnish used by Apelles — "Unum imitari 
nemo potuit quod absoluta opera illinebat atramento ita 
tenui," &c. 

The meaning of this passage hangs on the word circumlitio. 
Winckelmann follows the mass of commentators in understand- 
ing this as referring to some mode of polishing the statues. 
u But Quartremere de Quincey, in his magnificent work Le 
Jupiter Olympien, satisfactorily shows this to be untenable, 
not only "because no sculptor could think of preferring such 
of his statues as had been better polished, but also because 
Nicias being a painter, not a sculptor, his services must have 
been those of a painter." If these are the only " becauses" of 
Quartremere de Quincey, they are anything but satisfactory ; 
for a sculptor may esteem all his works as equal, and then 
prefer such as had the advantage of Nicia's circumlitio. Nor 
does the because of Nicias being a painter at all define the 
circumlitio to be a plastering with stucco, or a thick daubing 
with vermilion ; for, be it borne in mind, this vermilion 
painting is always spoken of as a solid coating. As to Nicias's 
services, " What were they? " asks the author of the His- 
torical Evidence in Mr Jo?ies's Apology. " Nicias w T as an en- 
caustic painter, and hence it is clear that his circumlitio, his 
mode of finishing the statues, so highly prized by Praxiteles, 
must have been the application of encaustic painting to those 
parts which the sculptor wished to have ornamented. For it 
is quite idle to suppose a sculptor like Praxiteles would allow 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 273 

another sculptor to finish his works. The rough work may- 
be done by other hands, but the finishing is always left to 
the artist. The statue completed, there still remained the 
painter's art to be employed, and for that Nicias is renowned." 
— Indeed ! This is exceedingly childish : first the truism that 
one sculptor would not have another to finish his work — of 
course, not ; and then that the work was not finished until 
the painter had regularly, according to his best skill and art 
— which art and skill are required — been employed in the 
painting it as he would paint a picture, u for vjhich he was re- 
nowned ; " — that is, variously colour all the parts — till he had 
variously coloured hair and eyes, and put in varieties of flesh 
tones, show the blue veins beneath, and all that a painter 
renowned for these things was in the habit of doing in his 
pictures. If this be not the meaning of this author, and the 
object of Mr Owen Jones in making such a parade of it, he or 
the writer writes without any fixed ideas, and all this assump- 
tion, all this absurd theory, is after all built upon a word 
which these people are determined to misunderstand, and yet 
upon which they cannot help but express the doubt. But 
why should there be any doubt at all? As far as we can 
see, the word is a plain word, and explains itself very well, 
and even expresses its modus operandi. A writer acquainted 
with such a schoolboy book as Ainsworth's Dictionary might 
have relieved his mind as to any doubts or forced construc- 
tion of circumlitio ; he might have found there, that the word 
comes from Lino, to smear, from Leo, the same ■ — and that 
Circum in the composition shows the action, the mode of 
smearing. Nay, he is referred to two passages in Pliny, the 
very one from which the quotation in the Historical Evidence 
is taken, and to another in the same author, Pliny — and 
authors generally explain themselves — where the word is 
used in reference to the application of medicinal unguents. 
We can readily grant that the ancient sculptors did employ 

S 



274 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

recipes of the most skilful persons in making unctuous var- 
nishes, which they rubbed into the marble as a preservative, 
and also to bring out more perfectly the beauty of the marble 
texture — not altogether to hide it. It may be, without the 
least concession towards Mr Owen Jones's painting theory, 
as readily granted that they gave this unctuous composition 
a warm tone, with a little vermilion, as many still do to their 
varnishes. Pliny himself, in his 33d book, chap, vii., gives 
such a recipe : White Punic wax, melted with oil, and laid 
on hot ; the work afterwards to be well rubbed over with 
cerecloths. To return to the " Circumlitio," we have the 
word, only with super instead of circum, used in the applica- 
tion of a varnish by the Monk Theophilus, of the tenth cen- 
tury, who, if he did not take the word from Pliny, and there- 
fore in Pliny's sense, may be taken for quite as good Latin 
authority. After describing the method of making a varnish 
of oil and a gum — " gummi quod vocatur fornis" — he adds, 
" Hoc glutine omnis pictura superlinita, fit et decora ac 
omnino durabilis." The two words Superlitio and Circum- 
litio,* — the first applicable to such a surface as a picture ; 
the last to statues, which present quite another surface. But 
if it could be proved — and it cannot — that the works of 
Praxiteles were in Mr Owen Jones's sense painted over, 
would that justify the colouring the frieze of the Parthenon, 
the work of Phidias, who preceded Praxiteles more than a 
century, during which many abominations in taste may have 
been introduced ? We are quite aware that, at a barbarous 
period, images of gods, probably mostly those of wood, were 
painted over with vermilion, as a sacred colour and one of 
triumph. We extract from the old translation of Pliny this 
passage : " There is found also in silver mines a mineral 

* ''Circumlitio''' — See Mr Herming's evidence before Committee of House 
of Commons on the preservation of stone by application of hot wax penetrat- 
ing the stone, and his mode of using it, similar to the encaustic process. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 275 

called minium, i. e. vermilion, which is a colour at this day of 
great price and estimation, like as it was in the old time ; for 
the ancient Romans made exceeding great account of it, not 
only for pictures, but also for divers sacred and holy uses. 
And verily Verrius allegeth and rehearseth many authors 
whose credit ought not to be disproved, who affirm that the 
manner was in times past to paint the very face of Jupiter's 
image on high and festival daies with vermilion : as also 
that the valiant captains who rode in triumphant manner into 
Rome had in former times their bodies covered all over there- 
with ; after which manner, they say, noble Camillus entered 
the city in triumph. And even to this day, according to that 
ancient and religious custom, ordinary it is to colour all the 
unguents that are used in a festival supper, at a solemne 
triumph, with vermilion. And no one thing do the Censors 
give charge and order for to be done, at their entrance into 
office, before the painting of Jupiter's image with minium." 
Yet Pliny does not say much in favour of the practice, for 
he adds : " The cause and motive that induced our ancestors 
to this ceremony I marvel much at, and cannot imagine what 
it should be." The Censors did but follow a vulgar taste to 
please the vulgar, for whom no finery can be too fine, no 
colours too gaudy. However refined the Athenian taste, we 
know from their comedies they had their vulgar ingredient : 
there could be no security among them even for the continu- 
ance in purity of the genius which gave them the works of 
Phidias and Praxiteles ; nor were even these great artists 
perhaps allowed the exercise of their own noble minds. The 
Greeks had no permanent virtues — no continuance of high 
perceptions : as these deteriorated, their great simplicity 
would naturally yield to petty ornament. They of Elis, who 
appointed the descendants of Phidias to the office of preserv- 
ing from injury his statue of Jupiter Olympius, did little if 
they neglected to secure their education also in the principles 



276 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

of the taste of Phidias. The conservators would in time be 
the destroyers ; and simply because they must do, and knew 
not what to do. When images — their innumerable idols — 
were carried in processions, they were of course dressed up, 
not for veneration, but show. We know that in very early 
times their gods were carried about in shrines, and, without 
doubt, tricked up with dress and daubings, pretty much as 
are, at this day, the Greek Madonnas. Venus and Cupid 
have descended down to our times in the painted Madonna 
and Bambino. Whatever people under the sun have ever 
had paint and finery, temples, gods, and idols have had their 
share of them. We need no proofs, and it is surprising we 
have so few with respect to the great works of the ancients, 
that these corruptions would take place. It is in human 
nature : barbarism never actually dies ; it is an ill weed, hard 
entirely to eradicate, and is ready to spring up in the most 
cultivated soils. The vulgar mind will make its own Loretto : 
imagination and credulity want no angels but themselves to 
convey anywhere a " santa casa ; " nor will there be wanting 
brocade and jewels, the crown and the peplos, for the admira- 
tion of the ignorant. Are a few examples, if found and proved, 
and of the best times — which is not clear — to establish the 
theory as good in taste, or in any way part of the intention of 
the great sculptors? If authorities adduced, and to be adduced, 
are worth anything, they must go a great deal farther. Take, 
for instance, a passage from Pausanias, lib. ii. c. 11: Ka/ 
'Yyz/uc d' sffi xccra rctvrov ayaX/xa ov% av ovdz rouro'/dotg hah'tuc^ ovrc/>. 
<7rzoieysov(><v dvrb xofiat rs yvvar/.ojv dai zsigovrai rfj Sew, xai effdrjrog 
BaQvXouvtug rsXcc^oong. "And after the same manner is a statue 
of Hygeia, which you may not easily see, it is so completely 
covered with hair of the women who have shorn themselves 
in honour of the goddess, and also with the fringes of the 
Babylonish vest." Here, surely, is quite sufficient authority 
for Mr Jones to procure ample and variously- coloured wigs 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 277 

for the Venus de Medicis, and other statues, and to order a 
committee of milliners to devise suitable vesture. Images 
of this kind were mostly made of wood, easy to be carried 
about ; and were often, doubtless, made likest life, for the 
deception as of the real presence of a deity. The view of 
art was lost when imposture commenced. Mr Jones admits 
that the Greek sculptors did not intend exact imitation, but 
his theory goes so close to it, it would be difficult to say 
where it stops short. Indeed, he had better at once go the 
whole way, or we may better say, "the whole hog," with 
bristle brushes, for when he has got rid of the " prejudice " 
in favour of white marble, his spectators will be satisfied 
with nothing less than wax-work. 

Of late years we have been removing the whitewash from 
our cathedrals, thicker, by repetition, than Mr Owen Jones's 
prescribed coats of stucco. Should his theory prevail, we 
shall be again ashamed of stone ; white-lime will be restored 
until funds shall be found for stucco, inside and out, as pre- 
paration for Mr Jones's bright blue and unmitigated vermilion 
and gold. It is frightful to imagine Mr Owen Jones and 
his paint-pot over every inch of Westminster Abbey, inside 
and out. 

Let us take a nearer view of the historical evidence. "We 
are told, " Ancient literature abounds with references and 
allusions to the practice of painting and dressing statues. 
Space prevents their being copiously cited here." We 
venture to affirm, that the lack of existence is greater than 
the lack of space, if by ancient literature is meant the best 
literature — the literature contemporary with the works of 
the great sculptors. There were poets and historians — can 
any quotation be given at all admissible as evidence ? It is 
extraordinary that the advocates for the theory, if it were 
true, can find no passages in the poets. Is there nothing 
nearer than what Plato puts into the mouth of Socrates ? 



278 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

" Let it be remembered that Socrates was the son of a sculp- 
tor, and that Plato lived in Athens, acquainted with the 
great sculptors and their works ; then read this passage, 
wherein Socrates employs by way of simile the practice of 
painting statues — ' Just as if, when painting statues, a per- 
son should blame us for not placing the most beautiful 
colours on the most beautiful parts of the figure — inasmuch 
as the eyes, the most beautiful parts, were not painted 
purple but black, — we should answer him by saying, Clever 
fellow, do not suppose we are to paint eyes so beautifully 
that they should not appear to be eye.' — Plato, De Bepub., 
lib. iv. This passage would long ago have settled the 
question, had not the moderns been preoccupied with the 
belief that the Greeks did not paint their statues ; they 
therefore read the passage in another sense. Many transla- 
tors read ' pictures ' for ' statues.' But the Greek word 
Avdgiag signifies ' statue,' and is never used to signify 
' picture.' It means statue, and a statuary is called the 
maker of such statues — Avdoiavroxoiog. (Mr Davis, in Bonn's 
English edition of Plato, avoids the difficulty by translating 
it i human figures')." Mr Lloyd, in his remarks upon this 
passage, confesses that it does not touch the question con- 
cerning the painting the flesh, but refers to the eyes, lips, 
and ornaments. We object not to admit more than this, and, 
as we have before observed, that certain images, mostly of 
wood, were painted entirely, excepting where clothed ; and, 
for argument's sake, admitting that Socrates alluded to these 
common images, if we may so speak, the ancestors of our 
common dolls, should we be justified in building a theory 
subversive of all good taste upon such an ambiguity ? For 
nothing is here said of marble statues ; and there is nothing 
to show that marble statues are meant. The writer in the 
" Apology " says, with an air of triumph, that Avd^iag always 
means statue, and never picture ; but these were figures, that 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 279 

he would call statues, of wood and of clay, and of little 
value — a kind of marketable goods for the vulgar, as we 
have already shown. But if the writer is determined to 
make them marble statues, and of the best, he might cer- 
tainly have made his case the stronger ; for when he says, 
and truly, that Socrates was the son of a sculptor, he forgets 
that Socrates was himself a sculptor, — and some have sup- 
posed him to have been a painter also, but Pliny is of another 
opinion. The three Graces in the court before the Acropolis 
of Athens were his work ; and it is probably to the demands 
these Graces made upon his thoughts the philosopher alluded 
in his dialogue with Theodote the courtesan. She had in- 
vited him to her home ; he excused himself that he had no 
leisure from his private and public affairs, — "and besides," 
he adds playfully, " I have <pi\ai — female friends — at home 
who will not suffer me to absent myself from them day or 
night, learning, as they do from me, charms and powers of 
enticement." * So tha,t we may suppose him to have been 
no mean statuary. Yet, considering that his mother followed 
the humble occupation of a midwife, and that consequently 
his father was not very rich, it may not be an out-of-the-way 
conjecture to suppose that the family trade may have had its 
humbler employments, of which the painting images may 
have borne a part. Ships had their images as well as 
temples, and we know that the ship's head was " M//,ro- 
Kaepog." The custom has descended to our times. But we 
are not to take the word put by Plato into the mouth of 
Socrates — avdgiavras — necessarily in the highest sense, and 
imagine he speaks of such works as those of Phidias or 
Praxiteles. Although the Greeks did distinguish the several 
words by which statues were understood, they were not very 

* In the Clouds, Aristophanes makes Socrates swear by the Graces— go^Ss 
ye in ra$ %a,^rct; — twitting him, as the scholiast remarks, upon his former 
employment, alluding to his work of the Graces. — Clouds, 771. 



280 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

nice in the observance of the several uses. Atdgimrag may- 
have been applied to any representation of the human 
figure.* AvdeiavTo<srotoe, says the Apologist, was a statuary 
— so may have been said to be AvdpiavroirXdtfrig, the modellest 
in clay or wax ; but neither word is used by Socrates — 
simply Avdoiavrag (images). There is not a hint as to how, 
or with what materials, they were made. The scholiast on 
the passage in Aristophanes respecting the work of Socrates 
(the Graces), makes a distinction between avh^iavrac and 
ayaXfiara — noticing that Socrates was the son of Sophronis- 
cus, Xi6o£6ov, with whom he took his share in the polishing 
art, adding that he polished avtyavrag Xi&mvg eXagsus, and 
that he made the " ayaXfLura " of the three Graces. Now, 
let avdpiug be a statue, or human figure, of whatever material, 
and grant that some such figures had painted eyes, and pro- 
bably partially coloured drapery, possibly the whole body 
painted — what then ? they might have been low and inferior 
works. Who would think, from such data, of inferring a 
habit in the Greek sculptors of painting and plastering all 
their marble statues — asserting too, so audaciously, that we 
the moderns have, and not they, a prejudice in favour of 
white marble ? But Mr Lloyd, in Ins note on this passage, 
with respect to Socrates (vide " Apology"), admits that it is 
no evidence of the colouring the flesh. " The passage is 
decisive, as far as it goes, but it does not touch the question 
of colouring the flesh. It proves that as late as Plato's time 
it was usual to apply colour to the eyes of statues ; and 
assuming, what is not stated, that marble statues are in 
question, we are brought to the same point as by the 
iEginetan marbles, of which the eyes, lips, portions of the 

=f " Inter statuas Grseci sic distinguunt teste Pbilandro, lit statuas Deorum 
vocent siboiXa • Heroum |««y« ; Kegum av^oiccvra; ; Sapientum uaika. • Bene- 

meritorum /B^svsa ; quod taraen discrimen auetoribus non semper observatur." 
—Hoffmann's Lexicon. 






THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 281 

armour and draperies, were found coloured. I forget whether 
the hair was found to be coloured, but the absence of traces 
of colour on the flesh, while they were abundant elsewhere, 
indicates that, if coloured at all, it must have been by a 
different and more perishable process — by a tint, or stain, or 
varnish. The iEginetan statues, being archaic, do not give 
an absolute rule for those of Phidias. The archaic Athenian 
bas-relief of a warrior, in excellent preservation, shows 
vivid colours on drapery and ornaments of armour, and the 
eyeballs were also coloured : here again there is no trace of 
colour on the flesh." But notwithstanding that no statue 
has been found with any trace of colour in the flesh, and not 
satisfied with Mr Lloyd's commentary, Mr Owen Jones seeks 
proof and confirmation of the sense of the quotation from 
Plato, in a caution given by Plutarch, thus mistranslated : 
" It is necessary to be very careful of statues, otherwise the 
vermilion with which the ancient statues were coloured will 
quickly disappear.'' 1 What kind of care is necessary ? Plu- 
tarch uses the word ydvuffig, which means more than care — 
that a polishing or varnishing, is necessary (if, as we may 
presume, they would preserve the old colouring of an archaic 
statue), because, not perhaps of the quick fading of the ver- 
milion, as translated by Mr Lloyd, but the vermilion i^avkT 
— effloresces ; or, as we should say, comes up dry to the 
surface, leaving the vehicle with which it was put on. How- 
ever, let the passage have all the meaning Mr Owen Jones 
can desire, it relates only to certain sacred figures at Eome, 
not in Greece, and which may have been, for anything that 
is known to the contrary, figures of sacred geese. How do 
these quotations show the practice of Phidias ? In the first 
place, Plato, who narrates what Socrates said, was nearly a 
century after Phidias, and Plutarch nearly six hundred years 
after Phidias. On every account the authority of Plato 
would be preferable to that of Plutarch, who kept his school 



282 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

at Borne, and was far more fond of raising questions than of 
affording accurate information.* Mr Owen Jones, however, 
in the plenitude of his imaginary triumph, outruns all his 
given authorities to authorities not given. He says : "There 
are abundant notices extant winch illustrate it the painting 
of statues'. One will suffice. The celebrated marble statue 
of a Bacchante by Scopas is described as holding, in lieu of the 
Thyrsus, a dead roebuck, which is cut open, and the marble 
represents living flesh." "We willingly excuse the blunder 
of the living flesh of a dead roebuck, ascribing it solely to 
the impetuosity of the genius of Mr Owen Jones, which, 
plunging into colouring matter, would vermilionise the palest 
face of Death. If paint could " create a soul under the ribs 
of death." he would do it. 

We know not where to lay our hand upon the original 
account of this statue of the Bacchante of Scopas ; but if it 
says no more than the Apologist says for it — that the marble 
represented "living flesh" — it does not necessarily imply 
colour. Here is a contradiction : if it be meant that by 
"living flesh" the colour of living flesh was represented — 
for that must be the argument — there must have been an 
attempt towards the exact imitation of nature. " In the 
first place." says Mr Owen Jones, arguing against the sug- 
gestion of coloured and veined marble having been used. 
' ; veins do not so ran in marble as to represent flesh. In the 
second, unless statues were usually coloured, such veins, if 
they existed, would be regarded as terrible blemishes, and 

* We do not presume to be critical upon the Boeotian schoolmaster's Greek ; 
but no modern student would take him for an authority in prosody. He 
says the impetuosity of the genius of Homer hurried him into a false quantity 
in the first line of the Iiiad } in the word ©3«. Plutarch was forgetful of the 
rule of a purum in the vocative. His prejudice is sufficiently shown in his 
essay On the Mai - - Herodotus, whom he disliked, because the historian 
did not speak over favourably of the Boeotians. " Plutarch was a Boeotian, 
and thought it indispensably incumbent on him to vindicate the cause of 
his countrvnien." — Belce's Herod. 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 283 

the very things the Greeks are supposed to have avoided — 
viz. colour as representing reality — would be shown." Does 
Mr Owen Jones here admit that this exact imitation by colour 
was not usual ? If so, as the words imply, what becomes of 
his quotation of the words of Socrates with regard to colour- 
ing the eyes ? And further, upon what new plea will he 
justify his colouring the Parthenon frieze — not only the men 
and their cloaks, but the horses — so that the latter exactly 
resemble those on the roundabouts on which children ride at 
fairs. We suppose he meant the men to have a natural 
colour, and the horses also — a taste so vile, that we are quite 
sure such a perpetration would have shocked Phidias out of 
all patience. And if not meant for the exact colour, what can 
he suppose they were painted for ? — as, to avoid this sem- 
blance of reality, the Greeks, according to him, should have 
painted men and horses vermilion or blue, or any colour the 
farthest from reality, the contrary to the practice of Mr 
Owen Jones — and that he should have painted them vermi- 
lion he immediately shows, by quoting Pausanias, where he 
describes a statue of Bacchus " as having all those portions 
not hidden by draperies painted vermilion, the body being of 
gilded wood." What has this to do with marble statues? 
But he seems not to understand the hint given by his com- 
mentator, Mr Lloyd, " that the statue was apparently ithy- 
phallic, and probably archaic " — a well-known peculiarity in 
statues of Bacchus. Not having, however, such a specimen 
in marble, he is particularly glad to find one of gypsum, 
" ornamented with paint :" nothing more probable, and for 
the same reason that the wooden one was painted vermilion. 
" But colour was used, as we know," says Mr Owen 
Jones ; " and Pausanias (Arcad. lib. viii. cap. 39) describes 
a statue of Bacchus as having all those portions not hidden 
by draperies painted vermilion, the body being of gilded 
wood. He also distinctly says that statues made of gypsum 



284 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

were painted, describing a statue of Bacchus yv-^ov wkm- 
rifLevov, which was — the language is explict — ornamented 
with paint (svnx,r/.»6 l uri{i6vov y^a^y.)" These are statues of 
Bacchus, and, as the Apologist is reminded by his commen- 
tator, Mr Lloyd, " apparently ithyphallic," and therefore 
painted red. The draperies are the assumption of the writer ; 
he should have said ivy and laurel. Mr Owen Jones, to 
render his examples " abundant," writes statues in the latter 
part of the quotation, whereas the word in his authority, 
Pausanias, is singular. We stay not to inquire if ygapr) 
here means paint, though, speaking of another statue, Pau- 
sanias uses the verb and its congenial noun in another sense 
— " Iff/ygaM&ta Icraurij yoaipTjva/." We the more readily grant 
it was painted vermilion, because it was a Bacchic statue ; 
and grant that it was seen by Pausanias. We daresay it was 
ancient enough ; but for any proof we must not look to Pau- 
sanias, who lived at Eome in the 170th year of the Christian 
era ; — and here it must be borne in mind, that of the innu- 
merable statues spoken of by that writer, of marble and other 
materials, the supposed painted ones are a very few excep- 
tions. Not only does he speak of marble without any men- 
tion of colouring, but of its whiteness. In this matter, 
indeed, the exceptions prove the rule of the contrary. 
Before we proceed to the examples taken from Virgil — weak 
enough — let us see if there may not be found something 
nearer the time of Phidias than any authorities given. 
Well, then, we have an eye-witness, one who must not only 
have seen the statues of Phidias, but probably conversed 
with Phidias himself — iEschylus. If such statues as' he 
speaks of were painted generally, and as a necessary part of 
their completion, could he have brought into poetic use and 
sentiment their vacancy of eyes ? It is a remarkable pas- 
sage. He is describing Menelaus in his gallery full of the 
large statues of Helen. It is in the " Agamemnon :" 






II 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 285 

"EvfAO^uv yc&g noXotfffuv 

'O^arov V iv a%yvicus 
"Eppa Tour' 'Aip^a^/Va. 

There was "no speculation in those eyes." The eyes were 
not painted certainly; as the poet saw the statues in his 
mind's eye, so had he seen them with his visible organs. 
The charm of love was not in them, because the outward 
form of the eye only was represented in the marble. The 
love-charm was not in those " vacancies of eyes." Schutz 
has this note upon the passage : " Quamvis nimirum ele- 
ganter fabricate sint statu ae, carent tamen oculis, adeoque 
admirationem quidem excitare possunt amorem non item." 

These lines of the poet iEschylus, repeated before an acute 
and critical Athenian audience, would have been unintel- 
ligible, and marked as an egregious blunder, if the practice 
of painting statues, or even their eyes alone, had been so 
universal as it is represented in this " Apology." Can there 
be a more decisive authority, than this of the contempo- 
rary iEschylus? It is certainly a descent from iEschylus to 
Virgil; but we follow the apologist. 

" Marmoreusque tibi, Dea, versicoloribus alis 
In morem picta stabit Amor pharetra." 

The writer, by his italics, is, we think, a little out in 
grammar, connecting "in morem" (because it was cus- 
tomary) with " versicoloribus alis," — and in his translated 
sense of the passage, with " picta pharetra " also. This is 
assuredly making nothing of it, by endeavouring to make 
the most of it. " In morem" may more properly attach it- 
self to " stabit ; " if not, to the wings or painted quiver, — 
not, in construction, to both ; at any rate, Virgil, though 
Heyne reproves him for his bad taste, had here a prejudice 
in favour of marble, for "Amor" shall be marble — that is 
the first word, and first consideration. In the next quota- 



286 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

tion Virgil, as provokingly, sets his heart upon marble — 
nay, smooth polished marble — and the whole figure is to be 
entirely of this smooth marble ; but he gratifies Mr Jones 
by " scarlet " — the colour of colours, vermilion — and thus 
so reconciles the Polychromatist to the marble, as to induce 
him to quote the really worthless passage : — 

" Si proprium hoc fuerit, levi de marmore tota 
Puniceo stabis suras evincta cotkumo." 

It is not of much moment to the main question what statue 
one clown should offer to Diana, in return for a day's 
hunting, or the other to a very different and far less respect- 
able deity, whom he has already made in vulgar marble, pro 
temp, only, and whom he promises to set up in gold, though 
simply the " custos pauperis horti." 

" Nunc te marmoreum pro tempore fecimus ; at tu 
Si fcetura gregeni suppl event, aureus esto." 

The poetical promises exceeded the clown's means ; neither 
Diana, nor the deity odious to her, saw the promises ful- 
filled. The Apologist is merely taking advantage of a 
poetical license, a plenary indulgence in non-performance. 
It is quite ridiculous to attempt to prove what Phidias and 
Praxiteles must have done, by what Virgil imagined. But 
as Mr Owen Jones delights in such quasi modern authorities, 
we venture to remind him of the bad taste of Horace, who 
loved the Parian marble ; and to recommend him to consider 
in what manner white marble is spoken of by as good autho- 
rity, Juvenal, who introduces it as most valued in his time — 
white statues. 

'* Et jam accurrit, qui marmore donet 

Conferet impersas. Hie nuda et Candida signa, 
Hie aliquid praeclarum Euphranoris et Polycleti." 

It may be as well to quote also what he says in reference to 
waxing statues : — 

" Propter qute fas est genua incerare Deorum." 






THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 287 

Upon which we find in a note — " Consueverant Deorum 
simulacra cera illinire (the old word of dispute) ibidemque 
affert illud Prudentii, lib. i., contra Symonachuin, — 

' Saxa illita ceris 

Viderat, unguentoque Lares humescere nigros.' " 

And in Sat. XII., " Simulacra intentia cera." 

We have already treated of this custom of waxing the 
statues, and given the recipe of Pliny, to which we revert 
for a moment, because the advocates for the colouring theory 
insist that illitia, linita illinere, linire, all of one origin, are 
words applicable to painting. Pliny says, — we quote from 
Smith's Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, — after 
showing how the wax should be melted and laid on, " It was 
then rubbed with a clean linen cloth, in the way that naked 
marble statues were done." The Latin is — " Sicut et marmora 
nitescunt." The writer in the Dictionary speaks as to the 
various application of the encaustic process, to paint and to 
polish : " Wax thus purified was mixed with all species of 
colours, and prepared for painting ; but it was applied also 
to many other uses, as polishing statues, walls, &c." 

Lucian, who died ninety years of age, 180th of the Chris- 
tian era, although he relinquished the employment of a 
statuary, and followed that of literature, had certainly an 
excellent taste in art. His descriptions of statues and pic- 
tures prove his fondness and his knowledge. What he says 
of the famous Cnidian Venus of Praxiteles is very remark- 
able. After admiring the whiteness of the marble and its 
polish, he praises the ingenuity of the artificer, in so con- 
triving the statue as to bring least in sight a blemish in the 
marble (a very common thing, he adds). It would not have 
required this ingenuity in the design, if Praxiteles had in- 
tended his statue to be painted, for the paint would have 
covered the stain in the marble wherever placed. We may 
learn something more from Lucian. In his " Images," wish- 



288 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

ing to describe a perfect woman, lie will first represent her 
by the finest statues in the world, selecting the beauties of 
each. It is in a dialogue of Lycinus and Poly stratus. " Is 
there anything wanting?" asks Polystratus, after mention 
of these perfect statues. Lycinus replies that the colouring 
is wanting. He therefore brings to his description the most 
beautiful works of the best painters. Enough is not done 
yet ; there is the mind to be added. He then calls in the 
poets. Here, then, we have statuary, painter, and poet, 
each by their separate art to portray this perfect woman. 
He does not describe by painted statues, but by pictures. 
Had painting statues been universal, as pretended, Lucian 
must have seen examples, and his reference to pictures 
would have been unnecessary. If it be argued that the 
paint had worn off, that argument will tell against the 
Polychromatists, for it at least will show that, in an age 
when statues were esteemed, the barbarity of colouring was 
not renewed. 

In his " Description of a House," he says : " Over against 
the door, upon the wall, there is the Temple of Minerva in 
relief, where you may see the goddess in white marble, 
without her accoutrements of war." The painter, it may 
be fairly conjectured, painted inside on the wall of the house, 
the common aspect, and the white marble statue. 

In his " Baths of Hippias," he mentions " two noble pieces 
of antiquity in marble of Health and iEsculapius." Nor 
does he omit noticing paint, and that vermilion — but where 
is it ? " Then you come to a hot passage of ISTumidian 
stone, that brings you to the last apartment, glittering with 
a bright vermilion, bordering on purple." 

According to Mr Owen Jones's theory, all these exquisite 
works in white marble are to be considered as unfinished ; 
if they have not been handed over to the painter, they 
should be now. Why did Phidias and Praxiteles so elabo- 
rate to the mark of truth their performances ? The reader 



i 



THE CEYSTAL PALACE. 289 

will be astonished to learn the reason from Mr Owen Jones. 
It was from the necessity of the subsequent finish by paints ! 
" People are apt to argue that Phidias never could have 
taken such pains to study the light and shade of this bas- 
relief, if the fineness of his workmanship had had to be 
stopped up when bedaubed with paint." It is astonishing 
that not a glimmering of common sense was here let in upon 
the work of Phidias, while the whole light of his under- 
standing showed the effect of his own handiwork on the 
plaster; for he, in that case, says, " But when the plaster 
has further to be painted wich four coats of oil-paint to stop 
the suction, it may readily be imagined how much the more 
delicate modulations of the surface will suffer." Does he 
suppose that the eyes of Phidias, and of people in that age, 
were blind to the suffering of these nice modulations from 
the stucco, or over-coats of paint ? But why did Phidias 
so finish his works? — hear the polychromatic oracle : "Now, 
people who argue thus have never understood what colour 
does when applied to form. The very fact that colour has 
to be applied, demands the highest finish in the form be- 
neath. By more visibly bringing out the form, it makes all 
defects more prominent. Let any one compare the muscles 
of the figures in white with the muscles of those coloured, 
and he will not hesitate an instant to admit this truth. The 
labours of Phidias, had they never received colour, would 
have been thrown away ; it was because he designed them 
to receive colour, that such an elaboration of the surface 
was required." This is the most considerable inconsiderate 
nonsense imaginable. Common sense says, that one even 
colour, or absence of colour, gives equal shadows, according 
to the sculptor's design ; but if you colour portions of the 
same work differently, the unity of shadows will be de- 
stroyed, for shadows will assimilate themselves to the various 
colourings, be they light or dark. This necessity of colour- 



290 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

ing would impose such a task upon the sculptor, so compli- 
cate his work and design, and so bring his whole mind into 
subservience to, or certainly co-operation and consultation 
with, the painter, that no man of genius could submit to it ; 
for it is the characteristic of genius to have its exercise in 
its own independent art. The assertion of the effect of 
colour Mr Jones ascribes to it, is untrue in fact, and if he 
could make it true, would so complicate, and at the same 
time degrade, the statuary's art, that in the disgust of its 
operation it would be both out of the power, and out of the 
inclination, of men to pursue it. Will the people of England 
take Mr Owen Jones's reproof? To them the labours of 
Phidias have hitherto been thrown away, for they have only 
as yet seen his works in white marble — in fact, unfinished. 
In this state Mr Jones thinks they have been very silly to 
adrnire them at all — and how they came to admire them who 
can comprehend ? they have no colourable pretext for their 
admiration. Not only have the labours of Phidias been 
" thrown away,'' — but, what is more galling to this age of 
economists, some forty thousand pounds of our good people's 
money have been thrown away too. What is left to be 
done ? Simply what we have often done before — throw some 
11 good money after the bad," and constitute Mr Owen Jones 
Grand Polychroinatist-plenipotentiary, with competence of 
salary and paint-pots, and establish him for life, and his 
school for ever, in the British Museum. It is well for him 
and for them that the innocent marbles have no motion, or 
the very stones would cry out against him, and uplift their 
quiescent arms to smash more than his paint-pots. 

And here let us be allowed to remark of Mr Owen Jones's 
colouring, having been thoroughly disgusted at the Crystal 
Palace, that he is as yet but in the very elements of the 
grammar of colour. He has gone but a very little way in 
its alphabet. He has practised little more than the A B C — 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 291 

that is, the bright blue, the bright red, the bright yellow. 
But the alphabet is much beyond this. What of their com- 
binations ? These are so innumerable that, as if in despair of 
their acquirement, he puts his whole trust in the blue, red, and 
yellow, so that the very object of colour, variety, is missed, 
and the eye is wearied and irritated in this Crystal Palace 
with what may be called, in defiance of the contradiction of 
the world, a polychromatic monotony. His theory of colour 
stops short at the beginning — it is without its learning. 
The sentiments of colours are in their mixtures, their rela- 
tive combinations, and appropriate applications, and we ven- 
ture to suggest to other Polychromatists, besides Mr Owen 
Jones, that the grammar of colouring, if learned properly, 
will lead to a mystery which the blue, red, and yellow, 
of themselves the A B C of the art, are quite insufficient 
to teach. The study is by none more required than our 
painters in glass ; nor are some of our picture -makers, as 
our Academy exhibitions show, without the need of a little 
learning. We scarcely ever see a modern window that does 
not exhibit a total ignorance of colour. The first thing that 
strikes the eye is a quantity of blue, for it is the most active 
colour, and it is given in large portions, not dissipated as it 
should be — then reds, and as vivid as may be — and yellows. 
Attempt at proper effect, such as the genius loci requires, 
there is none. With the unsparing use of these three unmi- 
tigated colours only, we do not see why decorators should 
be called Polychromatists at all ; they should style them- 
selves Trichromatists. But of Mr Owen Jones's polychro- 
matic theory and practice, do not let him so slander the 
tasks of the ancients as to pretend that he has it from them, 
if by the ancients he means those artists of good time. They 
delighted in white marble, " nuda et Candida signa," — the 
naked and the white. And yet the directors of this Crystal 
Palace have taken Mr Owen Jones's word for it. They have 



292 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

inconsiderately, and with the worst taste, delivered up tlie 
Palace into Mr Jones's hands. We dread his being put 
into any other palace, for he evidently longs to be stuccoing 
and daubing the real marbles. " The experiment cannot be 
fairly tried, till tried on marble" — and he looks to a wide 
area, ample verge, and room enough, " and in conditions of 
space, atmosphere, &c, similar to those under which the 
originals were placed." We, however, owe it to Mr Owen 
Jones's candour in admitting a note by Mr Penrose, which 
vindicates the character of this odious marble. Thus speaks 
Mr Penrose : " An extensive and careful examination of the 
Pentelic Quarries, by the orders of King Otho, has shown 
that large blocks, such as were used at Athens, are very 
rare indeed. The distance, also, from the city is consider- 
able : whereas there are quarries on Mount Hymettus at 
little more than one-third the distance (and most convenient 
for carriage), which furnish immense masses of dove-coloured 
marble, much prized, it would seem, by the Eomans (Hor. 
ii. 18), and inferior in no respect but that of colour to the 
Pentelic. It could, therefore, only have been the intrinsic 
beauty of the latter material that led to its employment by 
so practical a people as the Athenians." It will occur to 
the reader to ask if there is not here something like a proof 
that they did not intend this Pentelic marble to be painted ; 
for it is manifest, under the stucco- and -painting theory, 
that the dove-coloured of Hymettus would have answered 
all purposes. But Mr Owen Jones triumphs over his own 
candour. He sees nothing in the admission of this note of 
Mr Penrose ; he takes it up, he exhibits it, merely for the 
purpose of throwing it down and trampling upon it. He 
gives it a scornful reply. — Reply in large letters. It is a 
curious one, for, like the boomerang, it flies back upon 
himself, and gives his own arguments a palpable hit. The 
reader may remember how he had asserted that " the Athe- 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 293 

nians built with marble because they found it almost beneath 
their feet." In his oblivious reply, he discovers that the 
Athenians used it because it was a great way off from their 
feet ; nay, that the worst part of the matter was, that it was 
no farther off from their feet. He uprises in reverential 
dignity, to reprove " our present ideas of economy." " I do 
not think that, with our present ideas of economy, we are 
able to appreciate the motives of the Athenians in choosing 
their marble from the Pentelic Quarries, in preference to 
those of Mount Hymettus. We must remember that the 
Greeks built for their gods ; and the Pentelic marble, by 
presenting greater difficulties in its acquisition, may have 
been a more precious offering." Mr Jones thus offers two 
contradictory motives on behalf of the Athenians — one must 
be given up. It would be strange in so few pages that a 
writer should so contradict himself, if we did not bear in 
mind with what ingenuity a theory will invest its own perti- 
nacity. Surely no man on earth will believe that the Athe- 
nians, either by any extraordinary devotion* they showed 
towards their gods in the time of Pericles, or by an unheard- 
of folly (for they were a practical people), chose the one 
quarry in preference to the other, for no other reason than 
its greater cost and difficulty. 

We are referred to the evidence of Mr Bracebridge, pro- 
duced before the committee of the Institute, which Mr Jones 
says settles the point " as far as regards monumental 
sculpture." The evidence is, that in the winter 1835-6, an 
excavation, to the depth of twenty- five feet, was made at the 

* The "devotion" — the estimation in which the Athenians held their 
gods, at the very time of their building magnificent temples, and of their 
highest perfection in art, we may fairly gather from their dramatic per- 
formances. If Zeus himself was treated with little reverence, other deities to 
whom they erected statues fared worse. Bacchus is exhibited on the stage 
as a coward — Hercules as a glutton. — Vide Aristophanes and Euripides. So 
much for the motives invented for the Athenians by Mr Jones. Had such 
motives been appealed to, not a drachma would have been obtained. 



294 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

south-east angle of the Parthenon. " Here were found many- 
pieces of marble, and among these fragments parts of tri- 
glyphs, of fluted columns, and of statues, particularly a female 
head, which was painted (the hair is nearly the costume of 
the present day)." It is quite an assumption that the spot of 
this excavation was the place where " the workmen of the 
Parthenon had thrown their refuse marble." There is no 
proof whatever that these fragments were even of the age of 
the Parthenon ; even if they may be supposed so to be, we 
presume that, as works of art, they are worthless, for they 
are called refuse, and most likely had nothing to do with the 
work of the Parthenon. We believe at the same time was 
found the very beautiful fragment in relief, the Winged 
Victory, of which but very few casts were taken. One of 
these we have just now seen, and doubt not its being of the 
age of Phidias. This is white marble, and we have never 
heard that it has any indication of having been painted. If 
Mr Owen Jones could prove to us that the whole Parthenon, 
with all its statues, showed certain indications of paint, we 
still have not advanced to any ground of fair conclusion; for, 
in the want of contemporary evidence — (we cannot call any- 
thing yet adduced evidence) — we are left to conjecture that 
the daubing and plastering were the work of a subsequent age, 
or ages, when ornament encroached upon and deteriorated 
every art in Greece, whether dramatic, painting, or sculpture. 
" Pliny and Vitruvius both repeatedly deplore the corrupt 
taste of their own times. Vitruvius (vii. 5) observes, that 
the decorations of the ancients were tastelessly laid aside, 
and that strong and gaudy colouring and prodigal expense 
were substituted for the beautiful effects produced by the 
skill of the ancient artists." — (Smith's Antiquities.) 

We pay little attention to what has been said by the 
writers quoted regarding Acrolithic or Chryselephantine 
statues, whether of the best or lowest character. Whatever 



THE CEYSTAL PALACE. 295 

they were, they have perished, and there is nothing left for 
modern barbarism to restore. We have looked chiefly to 
undoubtedly good genuine marble — white marble statues, 
and reliefs of the best times, of such as are to be seen and 
admired, unadorned, in our British Museum. " It is the 
custom of all barbarous nations to colour their idols," says 
the writer of the historical evidence. We perfectly assent 
to this, and believe we shall ourselves be a very barbarous 
nation whenever the statues in that Museum shall be plas- 
tered with stucco, or painted over with four coats of vermil- 
ion or any other colour. Barbarous nations have painted, 
and do so still, not only their idols but themselves. Our 
Picts, with their woad colouring, may have emulated the 
peculiar beauty of bluefaced baboons. We dispute not the 
point that Greece, as well as every other country, at some 
period of its history was addicted to the common barbarous 
taste of colouring to the utmost of their means. The question 
is not whether they did it, but when they left it off. It is 
said in the " Apology," that if they had ever left off the 
practice, it would have been so remarkable an event that it 
would have been noted in history. We know not where any 
one will be able to put his hand upon any passage in history, 
showing the exact or probable period at which our neigh- 
bours the Picts left off the fashion, which we learn prevailed. 
We think Mr Owen Jones himself would be very much 
astonished if, even though in pursuit and pursuance of his 
own argument, he should turn the corner of Pall-Mall, and 
come face to face with half-a-dozen naked Picts in the ancient 
blue and vermilion costume. Quite satisfied that the fashion 
has been superseded, we care not about the when. Nor do 
we care to know, in our practical age, what finery they put 
upon their idols ; and although a commission under Poly- 
chromatic direction may bring back, from no very distant 
travel, accounts of multitudes of idols still draped and painted, 



296 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

we are sure this English nation will not resume the practice. 
"We have something else to do which the " Wisdom of Solo- 
mon " tells ns they had not, who fabricated such monstrosi- 
ties. " The carpenter carved it diligently, when he had nothing 
else to do, and formed it by the skill of his understanding, 
and fashioned it to the image of a man, or made it like some 
vile beast, laying it over with vermilion, and with paint 
colouring it red, and covering every spot therein." 

Much is made of the notices of Pausanias, who, in the 
177th year of the Christian era, travelled over Greece. Mr 
(afterwards Sir Uvedale) Price, in 1780 published "an accu- 
rate bill of fare of so sumptuous an entertainment," in relation 
to the temples, statues, and paintings remaining in Greece 
in the time of Pausanias. "We have thought it worth while 
to look over this bill of fare, and to extract all that is said 
about painted statues. Page 45 : "In the great square, 
where are several temples, there are the statues of the 
Ephesian Diana, and of Bacchus in wood — all the parts of 
which are gilt with gold, except the faces, which are coloured 
with vermilion." Immediately follows : " There is a Temple 
of Fortune with her statue, which is an upright figure of 
Parian marble. " Nothing about painting this ! Page 
177-78 : "In iEgina there is a Temple of Jupiter, in which 
there is his statue of Pentelican marble, in a sitting posture, 
and one of Minerva in wood, which is gilt with gold, and 
adorned with various colours ; but the head, hands, and feet 
are of ivory." " At Philoe there are the temples of Bacchus 
and Diana : the statue of the goddess is in brass, and she is 
taking an arrow out of her quiver ; but that of Bacchus is. 
of wood, and is painted of a ruddy colour." It is only the 
wooden are painted ! Page 199 : " In Phigalia there is a 
Temple of Diana Sospita, with her statue in marble ; and in 
Gymnasium there is a statue of Mercury, and likewise a 
Temple of Bacchus Acratophorus with his statue — the upper 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 297 

part of which is painted with vermilion, bnt the lower part 
is covered by the ivy and laurel that grows over it." This 
is the statue mentioned in the historical evidence, where it 
says " the body being of gilded wood." There is no doubt it 
was so — but in fairness we must say, that, having examined 
the original passage in Pausanias (Arcad. lib. viii., cap. 89), 
we find no mention of the material of which it was made. 
Here it will be observed that in no instance does Pausanias 
speak of a marble statue painted. 

We have been reading an account of the discoveries at 
Herculaneum and Pompeii — without doubt, both these places 
contained Greek sculpture of a good period. There have 
been a vast number of marble statues and fragments of 
statues found. The marble of which they are made is men- 
tioned. They are mostly white marble, and there is no 
notice of any having been painted. If one should be, or 
should have been, found coloured, it would be an exception, 
the not unlikely experiment of individual bad taste. We 
should bear in mind, also, that the discovered works must 
have been found with regard to substance and colour in the 
state in which they were overwhelmed in the sudden destruc- 
tion of the towns. Yet do we read of a single painted marble 
statue? The paintings are, however, minutely described, 
and their coloured wall decorations. We have yet to learn 
that there has been any paint discovered upon those exqui- 
sitely beautiful statues belonging to the Lycian Temple 
Tomb, in the British Museum, discovered and brought to 
this country by Sir Charles Fellowes. Could we be brought 
to believe that marble statues were stuccoed or painted — and 
we utterly repudiate any such attempts as Mr Jones's to 
make it credible — we should bless the memories, had they 
left us any notices of their names, of those worthies of a 
better taste who had the good sense to obliterate, to the 
utmost of their power, the bedaubers' doings. With them 



298 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

we venerate white marble ; and while we think of the Poly- 
chromatists, we entertain greater respect for the taste and 
sense of the so-called simpletons of the fable who endeavoured 
to wash the blackamoor white, than for the fatuous who 
would make the white black, or even vermilion. 

It is surprising that in the history of the arts the Homeric 
period is made of so little account. We are inclined to 
believe that the arts had reached a high state, at least of 
workmanship ; that they were subsequently lost, and revived. 
If Homer and Hesiod, the eldest of heathen authors, intro- 
duced into their poems elaborate descriptions of the shields 
of Hercules, and Achilles, and in some degree spoke of the 
actual workmanship, can we believe that either of them 
treated of things totally unknown at the times they wrote ? 
If so, they were inventors — or at least one of them — of the 
arts they describe. It is all very well to ascribe all that we 
read of to mere poetry ; but poetry, however it invents, or 
partakes of invention, builds invention on fact. It would not 
invent an art, and offer it to the world as a thing already 
known. The shields exhibit extraordinary workmanship, 
which is thought worthy to be attributed to the skill of a 
deity. That of Hercules in Hesiod implies the use of hidden 
springs, for Perseus is described as hovering over and not 
touching the shield, and the Gorgons pursuing him as making 
a noise with the shield's motion. The gold and silver dogs 
keeping watch at the gates of Alcinous could scarcely be the 
unauthorised invention of the poet. Much might be said 
upon the Nineveh discoveries ; references might be made to 
the time of Moses — and instances more than that of the 
brazen serpent; the subsequent building of the Temple 
might supply most curious detail — all these proving the 
existence of sculptural arts, more or less refined, long 
antecedent to what we would fain call the revival of art in 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 299 

Greece. But we cannot be allowed space for a discussion 
not immediately bearing upon the subject of this paper. 

It may be fairly conceded, that we are not to look to the 
earliest periods of art for its greatest simplicity. In all 
countries, monstrosities and ornament were more eagerly 
sought, soon after the first attempts at representation, than 
accuracy and beauty. The time of the 

" Fictilis et nullo violatus Jupiter auro," 

if not the poets' fiction, was of short duration. 

In this paper we treat not of the barbarities of art. Bar- 
barous ages may be of all or of any times. Art having once 
reached perfection, and having mastered, over the falsities of 
bad taste, its own independence and emancipation from every 
other art, we deprecate the return of a barbarism which shall 
unite it with a gaudy presumption of another and a lower 
art, subjugating the genius of mind to the meaningless 
handling of the decorator. 

Indeed, we should be content very much to narrow the 
question — to care little whether the ancient statues and 
relievi were painted or not. We are quite sure, from the 
very nature of things, the materials and the objects in the 
use of them, that they never ought to have been painted ; 
and if there ever was such a practice, and it were a common 
one as pretended, the world has shown its good sense in 
obliterating the marks of the degradation of art so widely, 
as that any satisfactory discovery of such a practice is not to 
be met with. Ages have passed in a contrary belief, and 
much more than the meagre evidence adduced must be 
required, in any degree to damage the long-established 
opinion that statues should not be painted, and that white 
marble has undeniable, and, for the purpose of the statuary, 
perfect beauty. The audacious attempt in the Crystal 



300 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

Palace, and the assumptions of the " Apology," might lead 
to the worst taste, to retard and not to advance art. And 
while we see simultaneously set up a foolish and dangerous 
principle to govern our national collections in painting, and 
probably sculpture, assumed with too much apparent autho- 
rity, we fear the introduction of monstrosity in preference 
to beauty, and the consequence in oblivion of what is good 
in art, and the encouragement of a practice of all that is. 
bad. 

If the reader, unsatisfied with the damage inflicted in these 
pages upon the facts assumed by Mr Owen Jones in his 
" Apology," and his conclusions upon them, would desire to 
see further arguments adduced from the necessities which 
originated the various styles of basso, alto, and mezzo 
relievo, — showing that they all presupposed one even colour- 
less, or at least unvariegated plane, as the surface upon 
which they were to be executed, and how and why these 
three — the basso, alto, and mezzo — have each their own 
proper principles, in which they differ from each other — how 
they were invented for the very purpose of doing that which, 
if painting the marble had been contemplated, would have 
been unnecessary — how, in fact, they are in their own 
nature independent of colour, regulated by principles of 
light and shade, with which colour would detrimentally 
interfere — we would recommend to his attentive reading the 
short yet complete treatise on the subject, by Sir Charles 
Eastlake, being No. 7, in his admirable volume, The Literature 
of the Fine Arts. He proves by the characters of the three 
styles, and by the wants they were invented to supply, and 
the diversity of design which they require, that " the Greeks, 
as a general principle, considered the ground of figures in 
relief to be the real wall, or whatever the solid plane might be, 
and not to represent air as if it was a picture." As Mi- 
Jones' s experiments are made on relievi, a little study 



THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 301 

of their nature and distinctions is at this moment very- 
desirable. 

If Mr Jones colours the horses brown and grey, the faces 
of the riders flesh colour, and marks their eyes, and reddens 
their lips, and draperies their bodies after patterns out of a 
tailor's book — it is quite absurd to say that the Greeks never 
intended exact imitation. In what he has done every one 
will recognise the attempt to portray exact nature in colour. 
Upon this principle, and establishing a contempt of white 
marble, there is but one more step to take, to set up offensive 
wax- work above the art of the statuary. Sculpture is an 
appeal to the imagination, not to the senses. That which 
attempts to deceive disgusts by the early discovery of the 
fraud. Indeed, it is a maxim in sculpture that a certain 
unnaturalness in subordinate accompanying objects is to be 
adopted, to show that a comparison with real nature is not 
intended. " If imitation is to be preferred," says Aristotle, 
" which is least adapted to the vulgar and most calculated 
to please the politest spectators, that which imitates every- 
thing is clearly most adapted to the vulgar, as not being 
intelligible without the addition of much movement and 
action, as bad players on the flute turn round, if they would 
imitate the motion of a discus. Paint to the statuary is what 
all this motion is to the flute-player. Whoever mutilates 
what is great and good in art, and would persist in so doing, 
after reproof, ought to pay the penalty of his folly. We would 
not be too severe in the punishment of offenders in taste, but 
should rejoice to see one of a congenial kind put in practice, 
one very mild for such an offence as this of statue painting — 
the tarring and feathering the perpetrators, plasterers, and 
bedaubers, principals and coadjutors. Upon Mr Owen Jones's 
principle, the " ex uno omnes," and his making a confirmed 
summer of one swallow, though we doubt the existence of 
this one vara avis, a white marble statue painted, he and his 



302 THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

company ought not to object to the punishing process, for 
more culprits have been known to have been tarred and 
feathered than are even the pretended specimens of painted 
marbles on record. We would, out of consideration for the 
peculiar taste of the decorators, mitigate the punishment, by 
allowing the received proportion of Mr Jones's blue and ver- 
milion to be mixed with the tar. 

The reader will think it time to draw to a conclusion ; it 
will be most satisfactory if he deems the case too clear to 
have required so much discussion, and that 

"Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle." 

But before we lay down the pen, we would not have it sup- 
posed that we are not sensible both of the merits and advan- 
tages of the Crystal Palace. It ought to be, and doubtless 
will be, the means of improving the people, and affording 
them rational amusement. There has been a little too much 
bombast about it, as a great college for the education of the 
mind of the people — too much eulogistic verbiage, which 
sickens the true source of rational admiration. It will im- 
prove, because it will amuse ; for good amusement is educa- 
tion both for head and heart. The best praise it can receive 
is, that it is a place of permanent amusement, than which 
nothing could be devised more beautiful and appropriate for 
those who mainly want such relief from the toils and cares 
which eat into life. We could wish the Archbishop of Can- 
terbury had not consented to let the Church of England be 
dragged in triumph behind the car of a commercial specula- 
tion. It was in bad taste at its opening — and Mr Owen 
Jones's colouring is another specimen of bad taste — but " non 
paucis maculis." We sincerely hope it will succeed in all 
respects, though we ventured not to join the Archbishop in 
his prayer. In fact, it is too great in itself for unnecessary 
display at the ushering in, which was worse than ridiculous 






THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 303 

— it made that which should be most serious in that place an 
offence and a falsity. The reader may be amused by an 
inauguration of quite another kind — one of poetry by antici- 
pation. We summon, then, our oldest poet, to celebrate as 
afar off, for coming time, our newest Crystal Palace and its 
wonders, in 

CHAUCER'S DREAM OP THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 

"Asl slept, I dreamt I was 
Within a temple made of glass, 
In which there were more images 
Of gold standing in sundry stages, 
In more rich tabernacles, 
And with jewels more pinnacles ; 
And more curious portraitures 
And quaint maniere of figures 
Of gold work than I saw ever. 
There saw I on either side, 
Straight down to the door wide, 
From the dais many a pillar 
Of metal that shone out full clear. 






Then gan I look about I see 

That there came entering in the hall, 

A right great company withal, 

And that of sundry regions, 

Of all kinds of conditions, 

That dwell on earth beneath the moon, 

Poor and rich. 
Such a great congregation 
Of folks as I saw roam about, 
Some within, and some without, 
Was never seen, nor shall be no more."' 



CIVILISATION.-THE CENSUS. 

[OCTOBER 1854.] 

My dear Eusebius, — If you wonder at the speculations with 
which I have amused myself and bewildered all within 
reach of inquiry, remember what a celebrated phrenologist 
said, that I should never make a philosopher : you remarked, 
So much the better, for that the world had too many already. 
I am not sure that I was not piqued ; and, owing a little 
spite against these unapproachable superiors — philosophers 
— have rather encouraged a habit of posing them ; and find- 
ing so many in this my experience inferior to the common- 
sense portion of mankind, I amuse myself with them, and 
treat them as monkeys, now and then throwing them a nut to 
crack a little too hard for them. Wry faces break no syllo- 
gisms, so we laugh, and they gravitate in philosophy. What 
is civilisation ? Is that a nut ? — a very hard one, indeed. I, 
at least, cannot tell what it is, in what it consists, or how this 
summum bonum is to be attained ; but I am no philosopher. 
I have taken many a one by the button, and plunged him 
head foremost into the chaos of thought, and have seen him 
come out flushed with the suffocation of his dark bewilder- 
ment. Less ambitious persons will scarcely stay to answer 
the question — What is civilisation ? The careless, who can- 
not answer it, laugh, and think they win in the game of fool- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 305 

islmess. Perhaps no better answer can be given, and the 
laughing philosopher, after all, may be as wise as the speak- 
ing one. A neighbour, who had been acquainted with the 
money markets, told me he did not exactly know what it 
was, but he thought its condition was indicated by the Three- 
per-cent Consols. An economist of the new school, who hap- 
pened to be on a visit to him, preferred as a test " American 
breadstuffs." He argued that such stuffs were the staff of 
life, supported life, and were, therefore, both civilisation and 
the end and object of civilisation. My neighbour's son 
Thomas, a precocious youth of thirteen years of age, stepped 
forward, and said civilisation consisted in reading, writing, 
and arithmetic : upon this, a parish boy, the Inspector's pet 
of the National School, said with rival scorn, " You must go 
a great deal farther than that — it is knowledge, and know- 
ledge is knowing the etymologies of cosmography and chro- 
nology." I asked the red-faced plethoric Farmer Brown ; — 
" What's what ! " quoth he, with a voice of thunder, and, like 
a true John Bull, stalked off in scornful ignorance. My next 
inquiry was of your playful little friend, flirting Fanny of 
the Grove, just entering her fifteenth year. " What a ques- 
tion ! " said she, and her very eyes laughed deliciously — 
" the latest fashions from Paris, to be sure." Make what you 
please of it, Eusebius ; put all the answers into the bag of 
your philosophy, and shake them well together, your little 
friend's will have as good a chance as any of coming up with 
a mark of truth upon it. The people that can afford to 
invent fashions must have a large freedom from cares. There 
must be classes who neither toil nor spin, yet emulate in 
grace, beauty, and ornament the lilies of the field. If you 
were obliged to personify civilisation, would you not, like 
another Pygmalion, make to yourself a feminine wonder, 
accumulate upon your statue every grace, vivify her wholly 
with every possible virtue, then throw a Parisian veil of dress 

u 



306 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

over her, and — oh, the profanation of your old days ! — fall 
down and worship her ? 

There is no better mark of civilisation than well-dressed 
feminine excellence, to which men pay obeisance. Wherever 
the majority do this, there is humanity best perfected. Homer 
teacheth that, when he exhibits the aged, council of statesmen 
and warriors on the walls of Troy paying homage to the 
grace of Helen. The poet wished to show that the person- 
ages of his Epic were not barbarians, and chose this scene to 
dignify them. Kuminate upon the answer, "The latest 
fashions from Paris." What a mass of civilising detail is 
contained in these few words ! — the leisure to desire, the 
elegance to wear, the genius to invent, the benevolent em- 
ployment of delicate hands, the trades encouraged, the soft 
influences — the very atmosphere breathes the most delicate 
perfume of loves. It is not to the purpose to interpose that 
this Paris of fashion suddenly turned savage, and revelled in 
brutal revolution, sparing not man nor woman. It was 
because, in their anti- aristocratic madness, the unhappy 
people threw off this reverential respect that the uncivilised 
portion slaughtered the civilised. It was a vile atheistical 
barbarism that waged war with civilisation. Think no more 
of that black spot in the History of Humanity — that plague- 
spot. Eather, Eusebius, turn your thoughts to your work, 
and fabricate, though it be only in your imagination, your 
own paradise, and she shall be named Civilisation. In case 
your imagination should be at this moment dull, rest satis- 
fied with a description of an image now before me, which I 
think, as a personification, answers the question admirably ; 
for supposing it to be a portrait from nature, what a civilised 
people must they be among whom such a wonder was born — 
not only born, but sweetly nurtured, and arrayed in such a 
glory of dress ! If you think this indicates a foolish extra- 
vagant passion, know that this fair one must have " died of 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 307 

old age " some centuries before I was born. There she is, 
in all her pale loveliness, in a black japan figured frame, over 

the mantelpiece of my bedroom at H , where I am now 

writing this letter to you. Mock not, Eusebius ; she is, or 
rather was, Chinese. I look upon her now as giving out her 
answer from those finely-drawn lips — " I represent civilisa- 
tion." If I could pencil like that happy painter — happiest 
in having such uncommon loveliness to sit to him — I would 
send you another kind of sketch ; it would be a failure. Be 
content with feeble words. First, then, for dress : She wears 
a brown kind of hat, or cap, the rim a little turned up, of 
indescribable shape and texture : the head part is blue ; 
around it are flowers, so white and transparent, just suffused 
with a blush, as if instantaneously vitrified into China. 
Lovely are they — such as botanical impertinences never 
scrutinised. On the right side of this cap or hat two cock's 
feathers, perfectly white, arch themselves, as if they would 
coquet with the fairer cheek. You see how firm they are, 
and would spring up strong from the touch, emblems of un- 
yielding chastity. The hair, little of which is seen, is of a 
chestnut-brown ; low down on the throat is a broad band of 
black, apparently velvet, just peeping above which is the 
smallest edging of white, exactly like the most modern shirt- 
collar, fastened above, where it is parted, by a gold clasp. 
The upper dress is of a pink red, such as we see in Madonna 
pictures ; below this is a dark blue-green skirt-dress, richly 
flowered to look like enamel ; over the shoulders a Madonna 
kerchief, fastened in a knot over the chest ; it is of a clear 
brownish hue, such as we see in old pictures. The upper 
red dress does not meet, but terminates on each side with a 
gold border, of a pattern centre, with two lines of gold. Thus 
a rather broad space is left across the bosom, which in 
modern costume is occupied by a habit-shirt; but such word 
would ill describe either the colour or the texture here worn : 



308 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

it is of a gossamer fabric, of a most delicately-greenish white, 
diapered and flowered all over ; nothing can be conceived 
more exquisite than this. It would make the fortune of a 
modern modiste to see and to imitate it. A clasp of elegant 
shape fastens skirt to upper dress ; the sleeve of the upper 
dress reaches only half-way down the arm ; the lower sleeve 
is of the rich blue-green, but altogether ample. Attitude, 
slightly bent forward ; over the left arm, which crosses the 
waist, is suspended a fruit-basket of unknown material, and 
finely patterned, brown in colour, in which are grapes and 
other fruit ; expression, sweetly modest ; complexion — how 
shall it be described? Never was European like it. It is 
finest porcelain, variegated with that under-living immortal 
ichor of the ancient divinities. Eyes clear-cut or pencilled, 
rather hazel in colour ; background, rockwork garden, rising 
to a hill, on which are trees — but such trees ! Aladdin may 
have seen the like in his enchanted subterranean garden. 
Then there is a lake, and a boat on it, at a distance, with an 
awning. She is the goddess, or the queen, of this Elysium, 
which her presence makes, and has enchanted into a porcelain 
earth, whose flowers and trees are of its lustre. 

Wherever, Eusebius, this portrait was taken, it was, and 
is, an epitome, an emblem of high civilisation. It speaks so 
plainly of all exemption from toil and care, of the unapproach- 
ableness of danger. There is living elegance in a garden of 
peace. It is, in fact, the type of civilisation. What ! will 
the economist, the philosopher of our day, be ready to say, — 
Civilisation amongst Chinese and Tartars ! and that centuries 
perhaps ago. Civilisation is " The Nineteenth Century ! " 
The glory of the Nineteenth Century is the Press. We are 
Civilisation. Very well, gentlemen; nevertheless it would be 
pleasant if you could exhibit a little more peace and quietness, 
a little less turmoil, a little more unadulterating honesty, a 
little less careworn look in your streets, as the mark of your 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 309 

boasted civilisation. You are doing wonders, and, like 
Katerfelto with his hair on end, are in daily wonderment at 
your own wonders. You steam — annihilate space and time. 
You have ripped open the bowels of knowledge, and well- 
nigh killed her in search of her golden egg. You are full, 
to the throat and eyes, of sciences and arts. You are hourly 
astonishing yourselves and the world. Nevertheless, you 
have one great deficiency as to the ingredients that make up 
civilisation ; you are decidedly too conceited ; you lack 
charity ; you count bygone times and peoples as nothing and 
nobodies : yet you build a great Crystal Palace, and boast of 
it, as if it were all your own ; whereas the whole riches of it, 
in the elegances of all arts, are imitations of the works of 
those bygone times and peoples. Who is satisfied with your 
model- civilisation ? Eusebius, is not the question yet to be 
asked — What is it ? in what does it consist ? how is it to be 
obtained? True civilisation has no shams — we have too 
many, and they arise out of our swaggering and boasting ; 
so that we force ourselves to assume every individual virtue, 
though we have it not. We are contemptuous; and contempt 
is a burr of barbarism sticking to us still, even in this 
" Nineteenth Century," a phrase in the public mouth glorify- 
ing self-esteem. I must, for the argument, go back to the 
Chinese lady in her narrow japanned gilt frame. As I have 
drawn my curtains, Eusebius, at the dawn of day, and that 
placid beauty (though not to be admitted in any book of that 
name) has smiled upon me from lips so delicate, so unvora- 
cious — did she pick grains of rice, like Amine in the 
Arabian tale ? — I verily thought she must have lived in as 
civilised an age as ours. Yes — -perhaps she was not very 
learned, excepting in Chinese romances, and very good learn- 
ing that is : but neither you nor I, Eusebius, lay very great 
stress upon knowledge, nor call it " Power," nor think that 
happiness necessarily grows out of it. One evil of it is, that 



310 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

it unromances the age ; and romance — why not say it ? — 
romance is a main ingredient in true, honest, unadulterated 
civilisation. You would prefer being as mad as Don Quixote, 
and being gifted with his romance, to being the aptest of 
matter-of-fact economists, and material philosophers. Ko- 
mance, then, springs from the generous heart and mind ; — 
methinks, Eusebius, you are progressing, and reaching one 
of the ingredients of this said desideratum, " Civilisation." 
As a people, it may be doubted if we are quite as romantic 
as formerly ; if so, however we may advance in knowledge 
and sciences, we are really retrograding from the summum 
bonum of social virtues. I remember once hearing a cele- 
brated physician, who knew as much as most men of mankind, 
their habits and manners, speak of an American "gentleman," 
adding, " and he was a savage." You can imagine it pos- 
sible, that, in the presence and impertinence of Anglo-Saxon 
vulgarity, the grave and courteous demeanour of a so-called 
barbarian would be a very conspicuous virtue. In Prince's 
Worthies of Devon, is a quaint passage to the point, which 
much amused me, for its singular expression. It relates to 
Sir Francis Drake, who, touching at one of the Molucca 
Islands, was, as the author words it, "by the king thereof, a 
true gentleman pagan, most honourably entertained." Of this 
" gentleman pagan," Prince adds, that he told General Drake 
" that they and he were all of one religion, in this respect, 
that they believed not in gods made of stocks and stones, as 
did the Portuguese; and further, at his departure he furnished 
him with all the necessaries that he wanted." Yet, perhaps, 
some of the habits of such gentlemen pagans had been scoffed 
at by Europeans, and often met with worse usage than con- 
tempt. Whoever has no consideration for others, no indul- 
gence for habits contrary to his own, though he may be born 
in nominally the most civilised nation under the sun, is really 
a barbarian. It was well said that, upon the accidental 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 311 

meeting of the finest dressed gentleman, with a powdered head, 
and a tatooed Indian, he who should laugh first would be the 
savage. The well-known story of the horror expressed by 
different people at the disposal of their deceased parents is 
curious, showing that opposite actions arise from the same 
feelings. In this case it was of filial piety. One party was 
asked if he would bury his father in the earth ? He was 
amazed at the question — shocked. Not for the world ; as an 
act of piety he would eat him. The other, asked to eat his 
father, was hurt and disgusted beyond measure. Let us be 
a little more even in our judgments, and speak somewhat 
kindly, if we can, of these gentlemen pagans all over the 
world. We may be often called upon to admire their disin- 
terested heroism, even when lavished upon mistaken objects. 
Here is an example from the misnamed weaker sex — mis- 
named, for they are wonderfully gifted with fortitude. I 
have been reading of a poor young creature, widow of a chief 
among some cannibal race. She was to have been immolated, 
according to custom, at the burial of her husband. Her 
courage at the moment failed her : she was induced by the 
persuasions of some good missionaries to fly, and they 
protected her. In the night she repented of her irresolution, 
escaped, swam across a river, and presented herself for the 
sacrifice and the feast. Scholars, you read with love and 
admiration of Iphigenia at Aulis ; her first reluctance ; her 
after self-devotion : you have imagined her youth, her beauty, 
so vividly painted by the poet. Was Iphigenia more the 
heroine than this poor girl whom we are pleased to pass 
unhistoried as a savage ? She gave herself up, not only to 
death, perhaps a cruel one, but with the knowledge that she 
would be devoured also that night. Iphigenia was certain 
of funeral honours, of immortal fame, and believed that her 
sacrifice would insure victory to her father and the Greeks. 
We have written exercises at school in praise of the suicide 



312 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

of Cato, whose act, in comparison with this poor savage's, 
was cowardice ; — more than that, we have been taught to 
mouth out, with applause, the blasphemy of the celebrated 
hexameter, " Victrix causa Diis placuit sed victa Catoni." 
The poor gentlemen pagans of the islands would cut as good 
a figure as heathen Cato, if their names and deeds could 
be turned into tolerable Latin, and passed off as of the clas- 
sical age. Henley, in a letter to Swift, tells the speech of a 
farmer, who said, " If I could but get this same breath out 
of my body, I'd take care, by G — , how I let it come in 
again!" Henley makes the pithy remark, " This, if it was 
put into fine Latin, I fancy would make as good a sound as 
any I have met with." 

I did not mean to induce a belief, Eusebius, that the 
Chinese excelled in the fine arts when I wrote down the 
description of the Chinese lady. The portrait had its pecu- 
liarities, and would not have been hung upon the line in the 
Eoyal Academy. I only chose it for its historical expression, 
which spoke of civilisation of manners, of security, and as 
containing in itself things which civilised people boast of. 
But there the argument is not very much in favour of this 
our "Nineteenth Century : " for the chiefest works of art in 
painting are of the cinque cento. It is not pretended that we 
have thrown into oblivious shade the masters of old celebrity; 
nor that we have made better statues than did Phidias and 
Praxiteles; nor excelled the Greeks in architecture ; nor even 
the artist builders of the ages which we are pleased to style 
" Dark ; " so that we have at least lost some marks of civil- 
isation. Nay, to come to nearer times for comparison, it 
would be a hard thing for our swaggerers to find a dramatist 
willing to be taken by the collar, and contrasted face to face 
with the portraits of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson, taking 
their plays as their representatives. There were worthies of 
a high romance in the civilised days of the " Glorious 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 313 

Gloriana." What marks of essential civilisation are visible 
in the comedies of Shakespeare — what delightful mixture of 
the real and unreal — the mind springing from its own natural 
elasticity above the fogs and blight of worldly business, that 
ever tend to keep the spirits from rising ! And why say 
comedies ? Tragedies too. How fresh is the atmosphere 
mankind seem then to breathe. Humanity is made lovable 
or dignified. If we might judge of civilisation from the works 
of writers of that age, we might be justified in pronouncing 
it most civilised, for it was governed by a vivid and romantic 
spirit. Take as contrast the literature of Queen Anne's 
boasted time. It is quite of another spirit. There is a de- 
scending, a degradation of the whole mind. There begins 
visible worldliness. We see man taking his part in the 
affairs of the world for what he can get as an individual. 
There is a prominence of the business, and less made of the 
enjoyments of life ; — the commercial spirit predominating, 
which has since overwhelmed the imaginative faculties, and 
buried the better, the more civilised pleasures of life, under 
the weight of avarice. We are, my dear Eusebius, too 
money-loving and money-getting to deserve the name of a 
thoroughly civilised people. Is a true and just perception of 
the fine arts a sign of civilisation ? What is admired — what 
is eagerly purchased- — what intellectual food do the purchases 
convey ? Is the mere visual organ gratified by the lowest 
element of the arts — imitation — or the mind's eye enlarged 
to receive and love what is great and noble ? In one sense, 
undoubtedly, the art of living is better understood, because, 
the romance of life fading away, personal comforts and little 
luxuries become exigencies, and engross the thoughts, filling 
up the vacancies that romance has left. Shall I shock yon, 
my dear Eusebius, if I add my doubts if liberty is either 
civilisation or a sign of it ? Great things have been done in 
the world, where there has been little of it enough, as well 



314 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

as where there has been much. The fine arts are certainly 
not much indebted to it. 

There is much in the question which yet remains to be 
considered. The questioned may well ask, as did the hea- 
then philosopher on one more important, and of an infinite 
height and depth — another day of thought to answer it, and 
each succeeding day another still. Is civilisation that con- 
dition in which all the human faculties may be so continually 
exercised, as to make the more intellectual, moral, and reli- 
gious being? when the plant humanity, like every other 
plant, shall by cultivation assume a new character, and even 
appearance ? I fear this condition necessarily implies a de- 
gradation also. For as in no state do the many reach the 
high standard, equality must be destroyed, so that inferiority 
will not only have its moral mark, but also its additional toil, 
far above the share it would have, supposing a state nearer 
equality. 

But then, it may be answered, the question is not about 
the many, but regards only examples, without considering 
number. Human plants may be exhibited of extraordinary 
culture and beauty — beauty that must be seen and admired 
— and, if so, imitated ; and this law of imitation will draw in 
the many, in process of time, to improvement. Very true, 
Eusebius ; and in a race naturally energetic, this imitation — 
while, on the whole, it will improve general manners — creates 
a social vice, affectation — which is vulgarity. The example 
of our Anglo-Saxon race is to the point — of wondrous energy, 
but in no race under the sun is vulgarity so conspicuous. If, 
then, the condition which forces all the human faculties to 
exertion be that of civilising tendency, does it follow that it 
is one of the greatest happiness ? The history of the world 
says manifestly that it is not one of peace, of quietness, of 
content, of simplicity — alas ! shall we say of honesty ? For 
it must be confessed civilisation acts upon the mixed charac- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 315 

ter which every man has, and therefore gives progression 
both to vice and virtue. Man is only made great by trials ; 
difficulties promote energies. It is the law of preparation 
for this world and for the next. Long, steep, and arduous is 
the way to excellence. The verse of Hesiod brings to mind 
a passage of greater authority. The smooth and broad way, 
and ever-ready way, is not so good. 



" T*Jj §' kgirns i^^ura. S-zo) tfgoTc&oiofav sdnxuv, 

Keci rg?i%o; WQwrov' i<7tviv o' lis ccxqov 'ixyrxi 
Vnib't'A V 'iftina, tzXii, ^aXtT^ <rt(> \ov(Toc.y 

Hesiod. 

Here we have toil, trouble, and a rough road. 

Now for a little entanglement of the subject. Who will 
sit for this aspirant for all the virtues — for civilisation ? I 
look up to the portrait of the Chinese lady, who first set my 
thoughts upon this speculation. Surely she never got that 
placid do-nothing look from any long habit of toil and trouble ; 
she never worked hard. I confess, Eusebius, as I question 
her, she does look a little more silly than I thought her. She 
never went the up-hill rough road. How should she ? she 
was never shod for it; nay, were the truth told — for the 
painter has judiciously kept it out of sight — she had no 
proper feet to walk withal. They had been pinched to next 
to nothing. She never could have danced ; would have been 
a sorry figure in a European ball-room ; and in the way she 
must have stood, would have made but (as Goldsmith calls 
it) " a mutilated curtsy." It is hard to give up a first idea. 
I proposed her as an emblem of civilisation — and why not ? 
She does not represent civilisation in its progress — in its 
work ; but in its result — its perfection. For look at her, — 
she stands not up with a bold impudence, like Luxury in the 
" Choice of Hercules," puffed up and enlarged in the fat of 
>ride, and redder and whiter than nature — a painted Jezebel. 



316 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

Quite the reverse. She is most delicately slender ; her sub- 
stance is of the purity of the finest China tea-cup. In fact, 
she seems to have been set up as the work of a whole nation's 
toil, — as a sign, a model, of their civilisation. They who 
imagined such a creature, and set her upon her legs — yet I 
can hardly say that, considering the feet — must have made 
many after the same model, or seen many ; and exquisite 
must have been the manners of such a piece of life-porcelain. 
Indeed, Eusebius, we have greatly mistaken these people, 
the Chinese. I will believe their own account of themselves, 
and that they were a polished people when the ancient 
Britons went naked, and painted themselves with woad, 
Besides, here is another picture at hand, clearly showing 
them to have been, as probably they are still, a sensible peo- 
ple, for they evidently agree with the wisest man, who said, 
" Spare the rod and spoil the child." Here they have pic- 
tured a school, and the pedagogue is flogging a boy, and he 
has a very legitimate rod. If this is not a mark of civilisa- 
tion — for it certainly leaves one, giving, as it were, a bot- 
tomry bond of future wisdom — I should like to know what is. 
Birch-buds are the smart-money of education, and wonder- 
fully improve the memory without touching the head, but 
reaching the brain by a harmless and distant sympathy. I 
am sure the Chinese must be a people well worth studying ; 
and, with all our national conceit, we may learn a good deal 
from them. If we scatter them about with our artillery, and 
stick them upon bayonets, and despise them because they 
are innocent, or have been till recently, in the arts of de- 
struction, who are the most savage — the slaughtered or the 
slaughterers ? Are we to call war, civilisation ? Perhaps it 
may be the " rough way " it has to pass. Ask the Czar to 
answer the question. He will assuredly say, that it is 
cutting the throats of the Turks and filching their property ; 
and he will show you one undoubted proof of the highest 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 317 

civilisation of modern times, consummate hypocrisy — com- 
mitting murder by wholesale in the name of religion. 

Shall I advance a seeming paradox ? Civilisation is im- 
peded by knowledge — that is, by the modern demand for it. 
The memory becomes crammed, till there be no room in the 
brain for legitimate thought to work in. Hence a bewilder- 
ment, a confusion of other men's ideas, and none of our own ; 
a general perplexity, and little agreement among people in 
sentiment, for they have no time left to consider upon their 
differences. The world is overstocked with the materials of 
knowledge, and yet there is ever a demand for more. The 
time of man's best wisdom was when he was not overbur- 
dened with books. Happy are scholars that so many of the 
classics are lost. Were all that have been written extant, 
the youth that should graduate in honours would be the 
miracle of a short time, and an idiot the remainder of his life. 
Then our own literature : it is frightful to see the bulky 
monthly catalogue of publications. Had I to begin the world, 
I should throw down the list in despair, and prefer being a 
literary fool, with a little common sense. Besides, the aspirant 
in education must learn all modern languages also. What a 
quantity ! I made a note from a paper published, November 
1851. Here is a quotation. A letter from Leipsic says : 
" The catalogue for the book fair of St Michael has been just 
published. It results from it that during the short space of 
time which has elapsed since the fair of Easter last, not fewer 
than three thousand eight hundred and sixty new books have 
been published in Germany, and that one thousand one hun- 
dred and fifty others are in the press. More than one-half of 
these works are on scientific subjects." Mercy on the brains 
of the people ! — they will be inevitably addled. With all this 
learning and reading, summing and analysing, and making 
book- shelves of themselves, they are retrograding in natural 
understanding, which ought to be the strong foundation of 






318 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

civilisation. And there is the necessity growing up of read- 
ing all the daily papers beside. Better, Eusebius, that the 
human plant should grow, like a cucumber, to belly, and run 
along the common ground, than shoot out such head- seed as 
is likely to come out of such a hotbed under a surfeit of dry 
manure. Verily it must shortly come to pass, that Ignoramus 
will be the wisest if not the knowingest among us. He may 
have common sense, a few flights of imagination unchoked 
with the dust of learning, or many wholesome prejudices, a 
great deal of honest feeling, and with these home -spun 
materials keep his morals and religion pure, and, walking in 
humbleness, reach unawares the summit of civilisation. If 
you think him an imaginary being, wed him to the Chinese 
Purity in the japan frame, and no one will write the epitha- 
lamium so happily as my friend Eusebius. 

I might here have ended my letter, rather expecting to 
receive a solution to the great question than pretending to 
offer one. But having written so far, and about to add a 
concluding sentence, I received a visit from our matter-of-fact 
friend B., whom people hereabout call the Economist- General : 
he is a professed statist, great in all little things. He is 
always at work, volunteering unacceptable advices and 
schemes to boards of guardians and the Government. I told 
him I was writing to you, and the subject of my letter, — 
" Then," said he, " I can assist you. The Census newly 
come out is the thing. In that you will learn everything. 
You will, in fact, find civilisation depicted scientifically. I 
will send it to you." We conversed an hour ; I promised to 
read his census return in the course of the day. He smiled 
strangely, but said nothing. I soon understood what the 
smile meant, when I saw a labouring man take out of a little 
cart a huge parcel, which upon opening I found to contain 
the Census in nineteen volumes or books, varying in shapes 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 319 

and sizes, some of which being very bulky, I judged to con- 
tain heavy matter. The idea of reading over and digesting 
the Census in an afternoon appeared now so ridiculous that 
I could not refrain from laughing myself. Nineteen books to 
examine in an afternoon ! It was evident there would be six 
months' toil, and as many hands as Briareus wanted to turn 
over the leaves ; to say nothing of the number of heads to 
hold the matter. What horse-power engine in the brain to 
work up a digested process equal to the task ! I was, how- 
ever, being somewhat idle, curious to see what could have 
made our friend such an enthusiast ; I therefore looked into 
some of the books — became interested — read more and more, 
though in a desultory manner. It is wonderful to see society 
so daguerreotyped in all its phases. What could have given 
rise to so much varied ingenuity ? — what schemes, what con- 
trivances for getting at everything ? — the commissioners must 
have been Titans in ingenuity. Was it the necessity of the 
case that induced so much elaboration ? I have read that the 
cost of the Census exceeds £120,000. That accounts for it, 
Eusebius ; such a sum is not to be clutched without some 
inventive powers. Our friend thinks the Census will help to 
solve the question of civilisation ; so pray borrow the volumes 
of an M.P. If you cannot get at the marrow of the thing you 
want, you will find much for after speculation. There is 
something frightful, Eusebius, in the idea that no class of men, 
no individuals, can henceforth escape the eye of this Great 
Inquisitor- General — a Census commission. There is no con- 
ceivable thing belonging to man, woman, or child that may 
not come under the inspection, and be in the books, of this 
great Gargantuan Busybody. In truth, he was born a gigantic 
infant in 1801. Hermes, in the Homeric hymn, leaped out of 
his cradle upon mischievous errands almost as soon as born : 
so did our big Busybody. Ere he was six months old he took 



320 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

to knocking at people's doors, and running away.* He soon 
grew bolder, stood to his knock, and asked if Mr Thompson 
did not live there. Then he had the trick of getting into 
honses like the boy Jones, and counted the skillets in the 
scullery, the pap-dishes in the nursery, turned over the 
beds in the garrets, and booked men and maids who slept 
in them before they could put their clothes on. With a 
thirst for domestic knowledge, he insisted upon knowing who 
were married and who not. He would burst in upon a family 
at their prayers, and note what religion they were of. He 
would know every one's age, condition, business, and be very 
particular as to sex female, why they married or why they 
lived single ; he could tell to a day when any would lie in. 
The most wonderful thing was the paper case he earned with 
him wherever lie went. It would have made Gargantna 
himself stare with astonishment, for it is said, upon compe- 
tent authority, to have weighed " nearly forty tons." This 
paper case contained particulars noted down of every one's 
possible concerns. He had another at home, in which he kept 
circulars for distribution, demanding further information. It 
was said to be bigger still ; 7 as he grew robust and bold, of 
course it took more to feed Busybody. It is almost incredible 
what a number of the people's loaves he ate up in one year ; 
but that there is the baker's bill to vouch for it, no one would 
believe it. The quantity of food required for himself and his 
numerous retainers has already made him look about with 
anxiety to foist upon the country a scheme for sure agricul- 

* There was an attempt to enforce returns upon religious and educational 
statistics, but, in the words of the Report, '-'It was, however, considered 
doubtful whether, upon a rigid construction, the Census Act rendered it 
compulsory upon parties to afford information upon these particulars : and 
the inquiry was, therefore, pursued as a purely voluntary investigation." — 
Report, No. I. 

f ' •' The weight of the schedules, blank enumeration-books, and other forms 
despatched from the Central Office, exceeded fifty-two tons. — Report, No. I. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 321 

tural statistics, to ascertain the number of loaves to the acre. 
It cannot be said of him, as of many, that his eye is bigger 
than his belly, for the former cannot as yet see " bread-stuffs " 
enough to fill the latter. Besides, he has quite an army to 
maintain of officials, enumerators, and registrars, who all, after 
the manner of benchers, must eat their way into the universal 
knowledge required of them. Such is Busybody. In my 
afternoon nap, I have dreamed of him, Eusebius, and offer 
you this description of him — his birth, life, habits, and man- 
ners — as by a dreaming intuition I received them. "What 
think you of the monster ? As perilous a beast as the "Wooden 
Horse of Troy. 

" Inspectura domos, venturaque desuper urbi." It would 
not be surprising if Irish mothers, when they find that all 
their babes are registered, age and sex noted down, were to 
take into their heads that they are to be fattened; that Swift's 
scheme, which a popular author has unwisely characterised 
as serious cannibalism, is at length to be realised, and thus 
Bigmouth of the old fair and puppet-show will appear as 
Busybody- General. Perhaps the "King of the Cannibal 
Islands," since we have taught him to read and write, will 
avail himself of this new registration system ; for with him 
all is alike meat in the market. I have been reading an ac- 
count of such a people's doings, and find the only difference 
between human and other is, that the former is sold as "long 
pig," the other short pig. 

I mentioned the ingenuity displayed in the Census — turn 
to the maps and diagrams. You will see a map of England 
and Wales, shaded so that the depth of colour shall denote 
the density of the population : there are figures also to tell 
the number of persons to a square mile, and towns and cities 
are represented by round dots, larger or smaller, according 
to the number of inhabitants. It is a very curious and 
pretty plaything ; but of what imaginable use ? It is like 

x 



322 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

the shadowing on the maps of the moon. London looks 
awful — a horrible black pit — and must give children, who 
will be delighted with the plaything, a notion that our great 
metropolis must be a sink of iniquity. Cobbett's notion of 
the " great wen " was by no means agreeable ; to make it 
such a black pit of destruction is far less flattering. There 
are diagrams also showing, by the closeness of dots, the den- 
sity of population at various periods. It was certainly a very 
ingenious contrivance of the inventor, for the enlargement 
and continuance of his work and employment ; in a matter, 
too, where, at first view, so little was required to be done. 
If not more profitable, it at least provides as much amuse- 
ment as Diogenes afforded when he rolled his tub about, to 
show that he must be busy. The inventor was, however, 
wiser than the philosopher ; for the philosopher aimed at 
satire only, the inventor of the maps and diagrams at pay 
and profit. Everything should nowadays be turned into the 
channel of education; it might be suggested to the educa- 
tional purveyors, and to masters and inspectors of schools, 
who stand a chance of wanting something to teach, to have 
these maps and diagrams printed cheaply on thick or board 
paper, that, even in their recreation hours, the scholars may 
learn something, and the favourite " game of goose," of 
ominous name, be profitably superseded. The two diagrams 
of London, the one for the year 1801, the other 1851, may 
serve quite as well as the " Chinese puzzle " to exercise 
growing or dull memories, having a like advantage of not 
burthening the mind, already too full, with any useful know- 
ledge whatever. For instance, it will be quite sport to learn 
by heart that, as to density of London in 1801, " on an 
average, there were nearly 394 square yards of land to every 
person, 2784 square yards to every inhabited house." As to 
proximity in 1801, that, "on an average, the mean distance from 
house to house (inhabited) was nearly 57 yards ; from person 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 323 

to person 21 yards." That, as to density in 1851, " on an 
average, there were nearly 160 square yards of land to every 
person ; 1234 square yards to every inhabited house." As 
to proximity, that in 1851, "on an average, the mean dis- 
tance from house to house (inhabited) was nearly 38 yards ; 
from person to person 14 yards." So that every person is 
approaching his neighbour in person, but not probably in 
love or liking, so rapidly, as that he has already seven yards 
of the area of his liberty taken from him since 1801. It will 
be comfortably and philosophically answered, that most of 
those who enjoyed that liberty in 1801, more than half a 
century ago, cannot complain, for they are now silent, and 
in less space, that of six feet by four ; and that the present 
generation easily accommodate themselves in less space, hav- 
ing the better liberty of making more noise. These are the 
trifles, the games, and the plays that amuse children six feet 
high. 

" Increase and multiply " was at the beginning, and from 
the beginning to this day is, the divine command. Some 
would infer that there must be a blessing attending obe- 
dience to it, others would in part abrogate the law, and, with 
Malthus, admit no crowding at the bountiful table which 
nature supplies. The presumption fairly is, that as security 
to life and happiness is the main cause of increase ; viewing 
this world only, such increase must be a great good, and it 
implies advancement in civilisation, which possibly may not 
be ill denned as the art of promoting life and happiness. It 
includes moral advancement. But the beneficence of our 
Maker allows us to look beyond this world. Hence, the 
awful thought, and the responsibility incurred by its increase 
of population, as an increase of immortal souls. There is a 
depth in this argument beyond my scope. It is a curious 
fact which this Census shows. In 1801, the population of 
Great Britain was 10,578,956 ; in 1851, it had reached 



324 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

20,959,477. Thus the population has nearly doubled in fifty 
years. But further : " The population of the United King- 
dom, including the army, navy, and merchant-seamen, was 
21,272,187 in 1821, and about 27,724,849 in 1851 ; but in 
the interval 2,685,747 persons emigrated, who, if simply 
added to the population of the United Kingdom, make the 
survivors and descendants of the races within the British 
Isles in 1821, now 30,410,595." 

Perhaps, Eusebius, you never considered that you have 
only right and title to a certain limited area, to live and 
breathe in, in this your beloved country. Your area is 
becoming more circumscribed every day. People are 
approximating fearfully. You may come to touch very dis- 
agreeable people ; at present you are only a few yards apart. 
There are two things, according to this Census, threatening 
you — "density" and "proximity." For "density" a French 
writer proposes " specific population after the analogy of 
specific gravity," so that if there be an accelerating ratio, 
you may be run in upon and crushed by your neighbours, 
after the annihilating principle of some of our railroads. I 
remember when a boy hearing an old gentleman make a 
curious calculation, equalising rights to the air we breathe. 
He came to the conclusion that a man who smoked tobacco 
took up more room in the atmosphere than he had any right 
to. This, now that we are so rapidly approximating, ought, 
you will think, to come under the consideration of the Legis- 
lature. See your danger — " the people of England were on 
an average one hundred and fifty-three yards asunder in 
1801, and one hundred and eight yards asunder in 1851." 
Thus the regular goers, the world- walkers, are coming in 
upon you ; but there are some as erratic as comets, whose 
contiguity you will dread. I say this is your danger, for 
you do not suppose such infinite pains would have been 
taken, and such vast expense incurred, merely out of idle 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 325 

curiosity to give you this information. Perhaps it is kindly 
meant to give you a hint that your room would be preferred 
to your company. " Tempus abire tibi est." More than 
this — not only persons, but houses are encroaching upon each 
other. " The mean distance apart of their houses was three 
hundred and sixty- two yards in 1801, and two hundred and 
fifty- two yards in 1851." 

I dare to say, among your ignorances, you are ignorant of 
this, that the British Isles are at least five hundred in num- 
ber. " Five hundred islands and rocks have been numbered, 
but inhabitants were only found and distinguished on the 
morning of March 31, 1851, in one hundred and seventy-five 
islands, or groups of islands." I cannot very well tell what 
is meant by " distinguished" but you will perceive that there 
is a chance, if you fear the "crushing density and proximity" 
of escape to one of these islands, as yet uninhabited, where 
you may exist without contact or contagion, as a very 
"distinguished" individual. You may be another Alexander 
Selkirk, and "monarch of all you survey," and have the 
honour of a distinction, in the next census, now enjoyed by 
a lone lady. You will be enumerated as, and as solely taking 
care of, number one. There are British isles that have each 
but two inhabitants. " Little Papa" has but one — a woman; 
and " Inchcolm one solitary man." What think you of this 
"last man" and this "last woman," each upon his or her 
"Ultima Thule?" The motherless man-hating woman, in 
contempt of the parental name, alone treading under foot 
" Little Papa." The " solitary man," if, as is likely he be, 
brutish, may live out of the fear of a recent Act of Parlia- 
ment. For if he disdains the marital luxury, he cannot be 
punished for beating his wife. 

The writer of these statistics, aware that there is a good 

Ideal of dry matter, prudently sprinkles it with a little salt- 



326 CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 

islands, he says : " The Scandinavian race survives in its 
descendants round the coasts of the British Isles, and the 
soul of the old Viking still burns in the seamen of the 
British fleet, in the Deal boatmen, in the fishermen of the 
Orkneys, and in that adventurous, bold, direct, skilful, mer- 
cantile class, that has encircled the world by its peaceful 
conquests. What the Greeks 'were in the Mediterranean 
Sea, the Scandinavians have been in the Atlantic Ocean. A 
population of a race on the islands and the island coasts, 
impregnated with the sea, in fixing its territorial boundaries, 
would exhibit but little sympathy with the remonstrating 
Eoman poet, in his Sabine farm over the Mediterranean : 

' Nequidquam Deus abscidit 
Prudens oceano dissociabili 

Feras, si tamen impise 
Non tangenda rates transiliunt vada.' " 

A writer or compiler of statistics should ride his own 
hobby. Pegasus is hard-mouthed to his hand; if he attempts 
the use of the curb, he is thrown, and thus is sure to be run 
away with. So here he has got quite beyond the ground of 
matter-of-fact. By the Vikings' soul in the British seamen 
— the burning soul too — he declares himself of the Pytha- 
gorean philosophy, quite gratuitously ; and in the following 
sentence carries his transmigration notions to a strange but 
practical conclusion, for he tells us of a race " impregnated 
with the sea" imaging sailors' mothers and wives as mermaids 
— that is, previous to the marine and martial alliances ; by 
which unaccountable flight of poetic diction, I presume, he 
means only that the sea was rather a rough nursing-mother : 
and how could he imagine that such an untutored race ever 
read, or could read, a syllable of what Horace wrote ? 
Doubtless, he must have been weary, counting up these 
five hundred mostly barren islands, and, coming in the list to 
" Rum" it must have made for him a comfortable sugges- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 327 

tion ; and in consequence, a pretty stiff tumbler set all his 
ideas at once afloat, and poetically " half seas over " among 
the islands, steering, however, steadily, as he was bound 
towards Mull Port, and the more pleasant hospitality of its 
7485 inhabitants. Having descended from this marine 
Pegasus, the author proceeds in his statistics. 

The number of inhabited houses in Great Britain in 1801 
amounted to 1,870,476 ; in 1851, to 3,648,347 : these contained 
4,312,388 families— persons, 20,816,351. Thus it is seen 
that the number of houses since 1801 is nearly doubled. 
How commonly we boast, Eusebius, of things that have 
passed away ! You hear it now often said that an English- 
man's house is his castle, the garrison of which has been 
hitherto supposed to be known only to himself. There has 
been an idea that not only the master, but all down to the 
very scullion, are ready to stand with spits and skillets to 
keep out unwelcome invaders ; whereas the truth is, as shown 
in this Census, that the castle has its government-inspector, 
who notes down and registers the numbers, ages, names, 
sexes, and occupations of every individual the said castle 
contains. Houses are a very nice tangible property for the 
convenience of government taxation; by judicious scrutiny, of 
which the Census Commission provides ample means, it will 
be easily ascertained what each family has to live upon ; or, 
what is quite the same thing for the getting the taxation, 
what on " an average " the Commissioners may think the 
said family ought to have to live upon ; thus the income-tax 
is facilitated in computation and collection. These are 
surely encroachments, that, by little and little, are domineer- 
ing over the subjects' liberty. There are other Acts of 
Parliament also which affect this liberty in the " castle ; " 
some general, some local. In few places can a man make 
alterations in his building, inside or out, without an applica- 
tion for consent, and of course a fee to some commissioner or 



328 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

other. If he succeeds, there is a further penalty upon his 
improvements, though they may have been required for the 
very health of his family. He has, through this Census 
scrutiny, to pay a tax upon his improvements, nor is he 
allowed any deduction for repairs. This Englishman's 
castle, then, you see, is as much besieged as Bomarsund ! 
At first it was pretty well thrown out of its own windows 
by the window- tax, and is always at the mercy of com- 
missions, whether it shall or shall not be turned out of 
doors. Many a one is there that has a ten-pound battery 
playing upon it all the year round. If, weary . of watching 
your besiegers, you turn yourself out of house, and live a 
rambling, roving life how you can, you will not so easily 
escape ; you will have an inspector after you with note-book 
and ink-horn, and you will be booked and pigeon-holed 
for further use when wanted. " Finally, there is the popula- 
tion sleeping in barns, in tents, and in the open air, compris- 
ing, with some honest, some unfortunate people out of employ- 
ment, or temporarily employed, gypsies, beggars, strollers, 
vagabonds, vagrants, outcasts, criminals. The enumeration 
of the houseless population, unsettled in families, is neces- 
sarily imperfect, and the actual number must exceed the 
18,249 returned ; namely, 9972 in barns, and 8277 in the 
open air." The poor strollers ! why should they be stigma- 
tised and classed with vagabonds, vagrants, outcasts, and 
criminals ? are they not following their lawful vocation, and 
doing something, as it is hoped they are, towards civilising 
the people through legitimate amusement ? It were better 
the compiler had the charity of the chimney-sweeper boy, 
who remonstrated with a brother sweep, who pointed his 
finger at Garrick in the streets, and said, "there be one of the 
player-folk." " Don't say so," said the discreet one, " for thee 
dostn't know what thee and I may come to." But I know, 
as you rather patronise gypsies, you will be pleased to hear 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 329 

that one tribe of them baffled the officials. " It is mentioned 
in one instance that a tribe of gypsies struck their tents, and 
passed into another parish in order to escape enumeration. " 

The great king whom we read of in history, who, in the 
excess of his felicity, thought it needful to have a flapper 
appointed to remind him every day that he was mortal, 
though he was made the example of many a theme in our 
school days, I look upon now as a very silly fellow. I have 
often heard you express your dislike of any impertinent 
memento mori — you have even thought it irreligious, and 
unthankful for present good ; and tending to chill the 
life-blood, the little that is left in the old, and to throw a wet 
blanket over the cheerfulness of the young, out of which 
cheerfulness elastic manhood is to spring, and to take upon 
itself to do the manly responsible duties of life vigorously. 
I repeat that you have always maintained, that to thrust a 
memento mori in every man's face, or to carve it upon his 
walking-stick, is irreligious, because it is essential unthank- 
fulness. 

It is not pleasant, certainly, to have one's days numbered 
by other people, and sent to you in circulars. I knew one 
of these life -calculators ; a clergyman called to condole with 
him on the recent death of his wife. All he could get from 
him was partly a submission to a necessity, and partly a 
congratulation that death had not taken him. " Yes, sir," 
said he, " if A does not die, in all probability B will ; and if 
neither A nor B die, C must." You will be indignant, but 
your philosophy will have the pleasure of its indignation, if 
I pointed out to your notice Busybody's table of mortality. 
When last he knocked at your door, and booked your age, 
did his eyebrows arch with surprise ? Eusebius, that look 
meant to tell you that you had no right whatever at that 
moment to be alive. He longed to filch your name out of 
his pigeon-hole of life. You are a hale man, and will, I 



330 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

hope, doing so much good as you do, outlive a couple of 
censuses yet. Have your eye upon Busybody when he next 
appears ; not like Death, with one of his warnings, but ready 
to receive a certificate of burial. There is a table showing- 
how very few who were alive in 1801 are now living, and so 
on, at eveiy succeeding census. " By the English Life 
Table it is shown that the half of a generation of men of 
all ages passes away in thirty years, and that more than 
three in every four of their number die in half a century." 
But I pass by this unwelcome subject — nor will I be the one 
to say to you or to any man, " Proximus ardet, Ucalegon." 
Let Ucalegon' s house escape if it can. 

It is more agreeable to contemplate births than deaths. 
There is something very curious in that hidden law which 
evidently regulates the proportion of the sexes to each other. 
It has been commonly thought that the males have exceeded 
the females, in order to make allowance for the greater waste 
of life to which the males are subject by wars and the ele- 
ments. But the facts show the contrary. le The number of 
the male population of Great Britain was 10,386,048, of the 
female population 10,735,919 ; the females exceeded the 
males by 349,871 ; and the males at home were 10,223,558 ; 
consequently the females exceeded by 512,361 the males in 
Great Britain. To every 100,000 females the males were 
96,741, including 1538 males abroad, the exclusion of whom 
leaves 95,203 males at home. The excess of females over 
males was nearly the same proportionally in 1801 and 
1851. Thus, in 1801, to every 100,000 males there were 
103,353 females ; in 1851, the females were 103,369 to the 
same number of males. The proportion in both periods 
was nearly 30 males to 31 females." It may be inferred 
from this that there is rather a greater waste of female life 
than of male. It would be worth while to ascertain how 
long this excess has been found to have taken place ; I am 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 331 

inclined to suspect that the unhealthy employments of young- 
women, to so large an extent, may have been the cause ; for 
it seems to be the law of nature to make a supply for the 
greater waste. Humanity requires a strict scrutiny into the 
healthy or deleterious employments of young women, espe- 
cially in our manufacturing districts, to account for this 
excessive supply, that as far as is possible some remedial 
measures may be adopted. That all is regulated by a law 
of Providence, there can be no doubt in any mind. My pre- 
sent knowledge of the Census is entirely confined to the 
Report No. 1 of 1851. I shall look to the second Part for 
an elucidation of this problem. 

It is surprising, however, on the whole, to see how un- 
evenly the sexes are balanced ; it would be a speculation 
not uninteresting to observe what causes may have induced 
occasional variations. Thus speaks the Eeport : — 

" The sexes have apparently increased at different rates 
in certain decennaries, but the average annual rates of in- 
crease through the whole period have been so nearly the 
same (males 1.328, females 1.329 per cent) as to cause a 
slight difference only in the third decimal place, and have 
differed little from 1J annually. The decennial rates of in- 
crease were, males 14.108, females 14.111." The " law of 
population," as it relates to proportion of sexes, is a mystery. 
No human polity can provide for that. It is plain to see, 
however, that there is a wise, benevolent, superintending 
Power which makes and maintains the law in a just equili- 
brium. Whether people shall marry or no may depend on 
human laws and civil institutions ; whether due encourage- 
ment be given, or the reverse. 

We learn from Herodotus that among the Sauromatse, a 
people in the northern parts of Europe and Asia, the women 
dressed in the habits of men, and, like them, engaged in 
battle ; that none were allowed to marry till she should 



332 CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 

first have killed her man. Hence it happened, we are further 
told, that many died old maids, never having been able to 
fulfil the conditions. How any population could be kept up 
under the existence of such a law, no one now can question 
the historian. I suppose, from the necessity of the case, 
that a reform was demanded, and more peaceful marriages 
were the first-fruits of a free trade. It must have been an 
adventurous thing for a man to marry a woman who had 
once killed her man to obtain one husband ; he might have 
lived in continual fear that she might kill a second man to 
have another husband. 

It appears that marriage, though it is nominally free, is 
under restriction ; were it otherwise, the increase of popula- 
tion would be far greater. " In ordinary times a large pro- 
portion of the marriageable women of every country are 
unmarried." The writer might have spared his ink; but he 
adds: "And the most direct action on the population is 
produced by their entering the marriage state." As one 
example may serve a general purpose, the Census gives 
that of the south-eastern division, comprising Surrey, Kent, 
Sussex, Hants, and Berks, in which " the number of women 
of the age of 20, and under 45, amounted at the last Census 
to 290,209, of whom 169,806 were wives, and 120,403 were 
spinsters or widows. 49,997 births were registered in the 
same counties during the year 1850, or 10 children were born 
in 1850 to every 58 women living in 1851." It is to be 
presumed that among matrimonial chances every lot is a 
prize. The difficulty of a choice, where multitudes assemble, 
maintains a law of hesitation — of indecision — by which it 
happens that celibacy becomes wise, and is fond of repeat- 
ing the philosopher's advice as to the time to marry : if 
young, not yet ; if middle-aged, wait ; if old, never. Let 
us see how the reverse operates where the choice is very 
limited. St Kilda, in the parish of Harris, is 70 miles away 



CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 333 

from the mainland in the Western Hebrides ; the population 
is 110 — 48 males, 62 females ; 32 families in 32 houses. 
" There are 19 married couples on the island, 2 widowers, 8 
widows. Five unmarried men, 5 unmarried women of the age 
q/*20, and under 46." One would imagine these had only to 
meet and to marry. Five is no great choice ; the greater 
haste, you would suppose, to take a partner. Is the solution 
to be found in this extraordinary fact, that there is no clergy- 
man to unite the couples resident on the island ? The five 
couples must wait ; and as the clergyman on the mainland 
may hesitate to go 140 miles to marry one couple, he is pro- 
bably waiting for all five to come to a decision. It must 
have been some such unfortunate place as St Kilda which 
supplied the wit to the epigrammatist upon the question of 
marriages ceasing elsewhere, the priest asserting that women 
are not to be found there ; the reply being — 

" Women there are, but I'm afraid 
They cannot find a priest." 

" On St Kilda," says the Census, " there is a manse and a 
church, but no medical man — no clergyman resident on the 
island." 

Will the world be better, Eusebius, for all these statistics ; 
will civilisation be one jot advanced, by registering our tailors 
as well as their paletots ? — by knowing how many tinkers 
there are in the world to mend our kettles ? They will, be 
sure of it, trudge about just the same, and do their work as 
badly or as well as before. All trades will be governed by 
their own instincts, without the least difference ; unless, 
indeed, statistics take a more useful turn, and fix their stigma 
upon the adulterators of goods. We may have reason to say 
something in favour of the Scrutiniser-Greneral, when he can 
tell us where the wines called port are manufactured that 
never came from Portugal, and who make them ; who adul- 



334 CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 

terates our drugs, so that people are dying for lack of the 
genuine ; who, in fact, poison all we eat and drink, and put 
devils'-dust on our backs for woollen cloth. It is very little 
to the purpose to have the number of thieves and rascals 
that infest the world, if the Augean stable of crime is left 
uncleansed. If dishonesty should ever be driven out of 
common trades, which it has so notoriously infected, a great 
thing would be done ; and we might bear with a grateful 
quietude more numbering and registering of us and all our 
concerns than we quite like ; although it surely is not neces- 
sary for this to carry on such espionage as this Census con- 
tains. Perhaps even its absurdity is dangerous, for it induces 
people to fix their minds upon that, not upon its ulterior 
purposes. While men are laughing at things, wilily ridicu- 
lous in themselves, they know not what mischief is secretly 
brewing. I maintain that it is a great offence in any way to 
touch the sanctity of the hearth — that what economists and 
statistic inventors may please to call public liberty, should 
be allowed to destroy home liberty. It is something mon- 
strous that every one should be obliged to give an account 
of every inmate in his house, their ages, conditions, and their 
relationship. It is better to let some of the peccadilloes of 
life escape notice, than register them and the house. If 
Miss or Mrs Debora Wilkins shall receive under her hospi- 
tality a big nephew, it is very hard upon her to be obliged 
to certify the exact relationship, or induce her into the great 
error of writing down a falsehood. Men may be a little 
more careless in such matters, but feminine nicety is touched 
to the quick. Could you, having any bowels of compassion, 
extort a confession from such an unprotected female as Miss 
Debora ? A registration commission might, if encouraged, 
hereafter ransack her unfortunate boxes to find baby-linen. 
Is there to be nothing but one rigid rule — no charity shown 
to sex and age — but the unsparing discovery of both on that 









CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 335 

fatal 30th of March ? Must no female, then, escape to her 
lover's arms in male attire — no "lubberly boy" pass for a 
sweet Anne Page, that sweet Anne Page fall not to the lot of 
a fool ? Must foibles, frailties, and follies be all registered in 
damnatory schedules ? Surely there might be a little decent 
connivance, such as would spare the two village ladies, who, 
being born in the same anno Domini, annually visited each 
other to determine what should be their ages for the ensuing 
year. Their only comfort will be in bribery and corruption, 
which they will be thankful is not yet put down, and a fee 
will spare what uncharitable Census would expose. There 
may be something in attacking crimes and discovering frauds 
which touch the whole community. These are not much 
harboured in homes, but in public-houses, and in shops, 
which are not homes, but as having a public character, and 
giving public invitation to all to enter them, ought to come 
under some kind of surveillance ; but when the citizen shuts 
his street door, let none force an entrance. Let no Asmodeus 
take off his roof, and publish the within little histories, nor 
make gimlet-holes in walls and ceilings. Such doings are 
but, as at present, a slight exaggeration or caricature of a 
census. Let there be a police, and a good one ; even with 
much secret scrutiny allowed to it, — it is for the public 
safety ; but there let it end in its admitted authority. Make 
not a police of a census commission, nor let the one interfere 
with or usurp the office of the other. Let a census be con- 
tent to number the people — a police take crime under its 
cognisance. The undying, ever-seeing, and acting arrange- 
ment of a police is one of the most curious phenomena of 
society. For revolutions that appear to overturn everything, 
scarcely touch a well-ordered police : the excellence of which 
is, that it lives and moves unseen, unfelt, by the good — that 
it is a protector. 

I remember years ago reading an anecdote showing the 



336 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

perfection of the old Parisian police. A gentleman had 
sojourned in Paris a week or two, when one day he was 
requested to attend at the police-office. He was surprised 
when told how he had occupied himself since he had been 
in Paris — what houses he had frequented, what friends 
visited, what business he had transacted. He was finally 
asked the home-question, " Are you a man of courage — can 
you rely upon yourself? " He thought he might. Then he 
was told that there was a plot to murder him in his bed that 
night — that his own servant was in conspiracy with others 
for that purpose. He was desired to go to bed as usual, and, 
if he did not sleep, to appear to sleep, and to fear nothing. 
In the night he heard his room-door open, a person or 
persons enter — he knew steps were 'softly approaching his 
bed — he fancied the arm uplifted to murder him. His 
reliance and his courage failed him not. Under his bed, and 
elsewhere in his room, soldiers had been secreted. To 
make the story short, his servant and the accomplices were 
taken. The Census which a police quietly makes has an 
object of general safety. It has its one pursuit. It has its 
particular game, and we may well give it its license. By it 
we sleep safely in our beds. It does its complicated but 
defined work silently ; whereas the other census is perpetu- 
ally knocking at every man's door, to ask impertinent ques- 
tions. It is a perpetual warning to " beware the Ides of 
March ; " for then it will come and toss the clothes off your 
bed at earliest dawn, lest you should rise and escape ; and 
you must give an account of all the beds, and all who slept 
in them. And what is all this disturbance for? For no 
earthly good that any of the persecuted can yet see, but all 
mistrust the end. Must every one of us have a ticket and 
number on his back ? It is the same thing, if he and his 
concerns, and all the relations of his life, are down in Busy- 
body's book. There he sits in his Centralisation Office, with 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 337 

his millions of electric wires passing underground, and 
coming up unseen in every man's house. He means to have 
his hook in every man's nose, nay, every man's, woman's, 
and child's, and to draw them in when he wills, as a big 
spider does his flies, and perhaps to leave them sucked as 
dry, suspended in his million-threaded web. And has he 
not as many eyes as that ugly creature, and as many ways 
of spreading out his ubiquitous legs — backward, forward, or 
circular ? Oh, this Busybody ! — he means to have a line in 
every one's mouth, and to draw all after him as Gulliver did 
the diminutive fleet. But I say, Eusebius, that, Liliputians 
as we are in his eyes, it is hard if we cannot combine, get our 
multitudinous toils round his legs, and with a long pull, and 
a strong pull, and a pull altogether, throw him on his back, 
tie him down hands and feet, search his pockets for his 
hooks, and then shoot our sharpest arrows into the body of 
this Quinbus Flestrin. We will not be any more gulled by 
this huge Gulliver. He is the Great Humbug and Deceiver, 
cajoling silly ones into a belief in the marvel of his arithme- 
tic ; that all the commonest things of life must be done by 
his mystical numbers, or will be done ill ; that they must 
count and think of how many joints, bones, muscles, and 
sinews they have in their toes, before venturing their feet a 
single step. 

What is become of civilisation all this while, Eusebius ? 
This Census, which was to tell so much, has not thrown 
light upon the question. Yet, perhaps, after all, it is a more 
simple one than you. or I thought it to be. I go back to 
the placidity of the Chinese lady in the picture. I am now 
gazing on her expressive trustfulness — upon a complexion 
that, if there be many such, justifies the title of " Celestial 
Empire." She, the feminine representative of a nation, the 
prized pearl of the Eomance of the Porcelain Empire, the 
very " Gentilezza," the embodied purity of a people's best 

Y 






338 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

thoughts, the endowed growth of a perfection above nature, 
for so much worship as humanity may, for its improvement 
in civilisation, be allowed to set up in the garden of imagin- 
ary virtues, the very Goshen where grow plants and flowers, 
and sweet waters glide unknown to working nature, and all 
courting the enchanting and enchanted beauty. 

" L'acqua la terra in suo favor s'inchina." Not to be 
tedious with you in this fancied passion, Eusebius, I come 
to the point I aim at. She is the emblem of civilisation, 
and that is feminine influence. Its ideal has beautified that 
porcelain world, as it will ever beautify every other where it 
is felt and maintained. 

Yes, Eusebius, civilisation, like common sense, aptly called 
mother-wit, comes from the mother. He who, as child and 
boy, loved and reverenced for all her purity, truth, and 
goodness, a mother, when he becomes man will ever do his 
part in civilising the world. From the first romance of 
mother's love groweth every other romance ; for romance is 
a noble and delicate sentiment. To propagate this is to 
propagate civilisation. But if any lack this reverence, from 
whatever cause, and would palm upon society, as better than 
its romance, an idle knowledge, a low spirit of calculation, 
an accumulation of mere facts and figures, trnst him not with 
the secrets of your breast ; all his doings tend to selfishness 
and rebarbarism. For my own part, Eusebius, when I see 
such glib statistical calculators boasting of their practical 
knowledge, I bethink me of the learned dog in the show, 
who with perseverance has acquired the trick of putting his 
paw upon letters and numbers, and of arithmetising required 
ages. Take heed to your pocket on such occasions ; for 
though you have paid your admission ticket, there remains 
the last requirement, the last main trick to be exhibited, the 
going round the company with the hat in his mouth. 



CIVILISATION.-THE CENSUS. 

[ NOVEMBER 1854.] 

Did my last letter, dear Eusebius, open to your intellectual 
sight a glimpse of the real nature of Civilisation ? Not that 
I would presume to imagine I could unfold so great a mystery, 
or to have reached the kernel of the nut which had broken 
the teeth of philosophers. Truth is as a ball of thread which, 
cast upon the ground, as it rolls unfolds itself : it is a lucky 
catch to have your fingers upon the outer thread : a careful 
following may unravel the whole, and the inner substance 
become clear and visible, however obscured in its involutions. 
Paint your phantasmagoria ; let it represent a universal 
tournament, with queens of beauty the prizes, and let every 
action be of honour, generosity, and love. Imagine a romance 
that shall embrace a nation, wise and reverenced age, heroic 
and lovely youth ! Why, you are laughing doubtless at the 
rhapsody — the dream. Well, is it not a dream of civilisation ? 
Honest hands were they of the trades in their several guilds 
that glorified the general grace with their proud handiwork, 
emulous of mastership and fair renown. Maiden- embroidery 
and horse-millinery were of the true materials ; no shams, no 
adulterated and knavish substitutes. All work was honest ; 
there was an additional worth in it of the labour of love. 
Fast asleep and dreaming again will you deem me? So 



340 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

nmcli the worse, if it be so very unlike the world we wake 
into, where both romance and honesty are faded like old 
tapestry, and equally derided for their out-of-time and seem- 
ing unnatural quaintnesses. Yet who knows, Eusebius, 
what " the ever-whirling wheel " of mutability may throw 
off for our allotment ? Old things may come round again, 
tricked anew, and bright as all the virtues ! 

" Redeant Saturnia regna." 

Is this but a peevish humour ? Are we not, after all, " better 
than we seem ? " Have we not greatness in us and among 
us? Truly we have. We are on the stage of a serious 
drama, of which the low underplots and the interludes are 
somewhat ridiculous ; but it is a grand piece that is being 
acted — that may justify a " plaudite," ere the curtain drops. 
Who shall dare to say that heroism is dead — that honesty is 
dead ? because knavery happens to be just now thriving, and 
miscalculating economists are troublesome with their false 
weights when the higher virtues are in the scale. 

I emblematised civilisation, in the Chinese lady in japan- 
gilt frame, like a rose in garden enclosure, — the feminine 
excellence, that even you might not, with an Anglo-Saxon 
conceit that occasionally and for a moment predominates in 
us all, arrogate to this your England all that is good. Queen, 
Empress, or Ladye — they are all one and the same — was she 
once, in the empire of Porcelain. Her picture is proof of her 
once existence, as a discovered coin of a reign ; and who 
knows if, in the wonders that mutability is working, she 
may not again rise a revivified civilisation in that strange 
land — a new Aphrodite out of the sea of its turbulence, when 
the Tartar dynasty shall have quietly withdrawn itself; for 
it is better he should escape than she should " catch a 
Tartar." My letter concluded with the best of conclusions, 
that civilisation is, was, and ever will be, Feminine Influence. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 341 

You may not like iny Chinese model ; but you, who would 
rather fight for the honour and reputation of your great- 
grandmother, than like a Bounderby deny a mother, will 
scan the mystery, and see its perfection. 

I was vexed to find nothing of this in Census No. 1. 
There all was of the penmanship of Big Busybody, prime 
secretary of Prince Humbug, and I felt some pleasure in 
rolling about my tub in contempt. But whether it was that 
the Prince Humbug and his secretary were weary or hungry, 
and retired, or were shoved for a while from their seats of 
authority by a more masterly hand, I find quite another 
spirit in about the middle of Eeport No. 2, wherein, in coin- 
cidence with our — that is, your and my view — the feminine 
element is justly brought out and duly weighed — its value 
and importance established. The writer of this portion of 
the Census, wisely dissatisfied with the assumed causes of 
our progressive population — namely, the mechanical inven- 
tions which have apparently found employment for the 
people — ascribes it to the influence of the changes in the con- 
jugal state of the people. He passes in review the period of 
our history extending from 1651 to 1751. " The population 
increased very slowly ; and we find that, after the restoration 
of Charles II., such a general dissoluteness of manners was 
inaugurated as can now be scarcely understood ; while 
shortly after 1751 the law of marriage — which, like the 
institution itself, had grown inconceivably loose, and had at 
the same time been greatly abused — was reformed. " Puri- 
tanism had drawn the social bow with too strong a hand ; 
I the string had broken, and it had hastily flown back in the 
opposite direction. Profligacy was a fashion. The writer is 
here unsparing, yet justifies his severity by authorities given 
in the notes. 
" The light poets, the players, and the gay men and 
women on town, led crowds of votaries into the extreme 



342 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

opposite to Puritanism. Young people of both sexes were 
brought from the country to Whitehall, where, instead of 
hard lessons of elevated thought and patriotism — such as 
Lady Jane Grey and her contemporaries learnt from Plato — 
they masqued, they ' ogled,' sang, and danced, under the 
eye of the ' Mother of the Maids,' and the higher auspices of 
the Queen, the Queen-Dowager, and the Duchess of York, 
until, wounded or terrified, they flew into concealment, or as 
it was everywhere deemed, ridiculously married, and in- 
gloriously discharged the duties of English wives and 
mothers. The sisters, daughters, and wives of the loyalest 
subjects, the greatest generals, the wisest statesmen, and the 
gravest judges, figured in the Paphian train, glittering and 
smiling as the troop of Boccaccio in the pages of Grammont, 
and on the walls of Hampton Court; but with advancing 
years shattered, patched, degraded, fading — as they are 
seen in the authentic memoirs of the age, and lifelike 
portraits of Hogarth." 

As Hogarth was not born till 1698, the tenth year of the 
reign of William and Mary, it is surely straining a point for 
the picturesque effect of portraiture, to introduce him as de- 
picting, in the dramatis persona of his scenic works, the 
profligacies of the reign or the Beauties of the Court of 
Charles II. In the frigid Court of William and Mary, " vice 
lost its graces and charms ; " but profligacy is not at once 
eradicated; and it would be strange indeed if there was 
not enough of it in practice of the then world of fashion to 
justify the satire of the moral painter. The " homely but 
not shining qualities " which regulated the court of the 
" devout, chaste, and formal" Queen Anne, so designated by 
Lord Chesterfield, a writer very tolerant of old vices, were 
not suffered to have a permanent effect upon the manners 
of the people, by the succession of the two first Georges. 



, 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 343 

Among all classes " the institution of marriage was unsettled 
to its foundations." 

The effect of this state of things upon families was most 
pernicious. The due ratio of increase of population was 
stayed. A gradual improvement in the morals of the people 
commenced after 1751. Lord Hardwicke's bill, in 1753, was 
"one of the first evident reforms in the law of marriage." 
Historians do not express the same sentiments upon the 
operation of this bill — some viewing it as a means to secure 
to the aristocracy fortunes by marriages, others as giving a 
greater respectability to marriage itself. It was at the time 
considered by its opponents as likely to affect the population 
of the country. The writer in the Eeport observes : " Ex- 
perience soon showed, that instead of stopping marriage, and 
the growth of population, the Act had the contrary effect, by 
depriving the marriage ceremony of disgraceful associations 
— by making it not a mere verbal promise, but a life-con- 
tract to be recorded, to be entered into with deliberation by 
persons in the enjoyment of their faculties, and to be kept 
inviolate till death." And here it is fair to remark, that 
probably no small share of the disrespect in which marriages 
were held, and the consequent dissoluteness, may be ascribed 
to the Puritans, who, before Charles's arrival, in 1653, had 
passed a bill for solemnising marriages by justices of peace. 
The removal of any part of the sanctity of marriage has a 
tendency to bring it into disrepute ; it is better that it should 
be held even as some would say with a superstition, than 
merely as a civil contract, which, like most other civil con- 
tracts, may be broken ad libitum by those who are willing to 
I incur the penalties. Modern legislation has, however, in 
this respect, brought the ceremony of marriage down still 
lower than the Act of the Puritans, by reducing even the 



344 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

the public Eegister Offices. Where there is little distinct 
religious feeling or principle, there is a superstition akin to 
it. And there are few who do not receive or remember, with 
a sense of awe, the solemn words, " Whom God hath joined 
together, let no man put asunder;" and the evil suggestion, 
in the contrary case, is ready enough — Whom man joins man 
may put asunder, and if man only, it little matters what man. 
Parties may assume that privilege to themselves. It is hard 
to see how the Church of England can, at any after time, by 
their other official acts, recognise such marriages. What is 
to be said of the monition or warning, that " so many as are 
coupled together otherwise than God's word doth allow, are 
not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony law- 
ful " ? 

' " Since the Act (of 1753) came into operation, the registers 
of marriage have been preserved in England, and show an 
increase from 50,972 in the year 1756 to 63,310 in 1764. 
' The rage of marrying is very prevalent,' writes Lord Ches- 
terfield in the latter year ; and again in 1767, ' in short, the 
matrimonial frenzy seems to rage at present, and is epidemi- 
cal.' " After many fluctuations, the marriages rose to seventy, 
eighty, ninety, and a hundred thousand annually : and in the 
Census year (1851) to a hundred and fifty-four thousand two 
hundred and six. Fourteen millions were added to the popu- 
lation. The matrimonial "frenzy" which amused Lord 
Chesterfield was rife in the reign of our Third George. You 
will not be surprised, Eusebius, to learn, that to George III., 
his queen, and the example of his court, is ascribed by this 
writer in the Census the change for the better in the morals 
and manners of the people. Family sanctities were esta- 
blished. The home influence of the virtuous mother was 
felt throughout the land. That purity was restored which 
had been nearly lost in the moral degradation of women of 
previous licentious times. It is with a grateful pleasure, 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 345 

Eusebius, as one born during that moral reign, and thankful 
for that love of a mother which was its law and rule, and my 
individual happiness, that T make the following extract : — 

" Of the political course of George III. and Queen Char- 
lotte opinions necessarily still differ; but the truth of the 
testimony to the Queen's private virtues will be universally 
admitted." (Here follows extract from Lord Mahon's History 
of England). " Pure, and above all reproach in her own 
domestic life, she knew how to enforce at her court the 
virtues, or at the very least, the semblance of the virtues, 
which she practised. To no other woman, probably, had the 
cause of good morals in England ever owed so deep an obliga- 
tion." The Queen devoted much time to the education of 
her family. The simple, pure life of the Eoyal Family, soon 
became known in every cottage of England and Scotland, 
and afforded a striking contrast to the scandals of preceding 
reigns. " Decorum reigned in the court of George III., but 
it was not the result of calculation or of philosophy, but of 
the love of order, of duty, and of religion. This prince as 
zealously promoted the family, as an institution according to 
the old Anglo-Saxon type, as Charles II. propagated the 
Oriental fashion, or its spurious modification." " He was to 
the last the ' good king' whom they had pitied and blamed, 
but never hated ; for he had placed the wife on the throne, 
which the mistress had usurped; so that the idea of the 
English family lived again in all its old beauty. And this 
was the great social reform, which deservedly preceded all 
other changes." 

The writer or writers of this Eeport are severe in their 
strictures upon the Marriage Law of Scotland. People living 
in the state of marriage in Scotland are one-sixth less in pro- 
portion than the people of England. Scotland is considered 
under-peopled. Her marriage law has not been reformed as 
in England ; the consequences are those which operated with 



346 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

us before Lord Hardwicke's Act in 1753. The evidence of 
the best legal authorities is given in the Keport regarding 
this evil. Lord Brougham says concerning it : " As the law 
now stands, they (the parties) have only to go before the 
ostler, or the chambermaid, or the postboy, whoever it is that 
chives them to the country ; or, if they reside in the country, 
they can do it before any one witness that can prove it, or even 
without any witness they can do it, if they can prove the date, by 
an interchange of letters and acknowledgments : they have 
only to do that, and they are married in a trice, and just as 
effectually as the Moderator of the General Assembly can 
marry them, or any of the doctors of divinity in their own 
paiish. . . . I should say," says Lord Brougham, u that 
the law of Scotland as it now stands has a very great tend- 
ency to shelter, and therefore to promote clandestinity, which 
is in my opinion a very great evil in any society. It seems 
to me to be of infinite importance that a contract, such as the 
marriage contract, should be overt and known to all mankind, 
and above all, that it should be easy of proof." Lord Camp- 
bell is equally strong in his abhorrence of the law as it stands. 
It is injurious to Scotland as to England; for besides the 
disgraces of Gretna Green, and the evasion thereby of the 
English Marriage Law, it affects Scotland by the fact, as 
noticed by Lord Brougham, that English parents of property 
are afraid to send their sons for education to Edinburgh, and 
by the lower ratio of increase of population through fewer 
marriages. For the Census shows that, " in 1841, of the 
English people in Scotland 18,562 were males, and 19,234 
were females : of the Scottish people in England and Wales, 
60,704 were males, and 42,834 females. Of the Irish people 
in Great Britain, 219,397 were males, and 199,859 were 
females. The respective numbers of the ages under and 
above 20, were not distinguished in 1841 ; but the propor- 
tional numbers of males and females support the conclusion 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 347 

that the Scotch women are forsaken in greater numbers than 
English women by their countrymen." What conceivable 
reason, Eusebius, can be given for the continuance of such an 
evil as this Scottish law of marriage ? The newspapers have 
recently told us of a shameful case of a child of about 12 
years of age taken from a school, and married under its vicious 
protection. Old plays and popular novels sufficiently show 
what were the dangers and the effects of loose marriages once 
so common even in England. Now, happily, no Olivia can 
be in danger of having the rite performed by a pretended 
clergyman. I believe, Eusebius, I speak of a notorious fact, 
that it is short of a century since, for election purposes, parties 
were unblushingly married in cases where women conveyed 
a right of freedom, a political franchise, to their husbands, 
and parted by shaking hands over a tombstone, as an act of 
dissolution of the marriage, under cover of the words " till 
death us do part." 

This subject of marriage, of which you will see ample de- 
tails in the Keport, I have dwelt upon to this length because 
it is the very fountain-head of that feminine influence con- 
vertible into a national civilisation. From this arises the 
institution of the "Family" wherein maternity is enthroned, 
and home dignified by duties and responsibilities, and all the 
ties of love and the charities that civilise and grace life are 
engendered. These homes nestled and neighboured through- 
out the country, each an epitome of the kingdom which as a 
whole they constitute, maintain — and may they ever main- 
tain — the best character of our race. 

Whilst we are reading the heart- stirring accounts of our 
victories, and are justly proud of the blood, sinew, and spirit 
of our race, it is of no small interest to see how that stock of 
manliness is likely to be maintained. You will be glad to 
find, Eusebius, that we can still and may for ages contend 
gloriously with the enemy " in the gate," — ay, not only in 



348 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

our own " gates/' but in any enemy's gates. u The males 
at the soldier's age of 20 to 40 amounted to 1,966,664 in 
1821, and to 3,193,496 in 1851. The increase on the thirty 
years is equivalent in number to a vast army of more than 
twelve hundred thousand men (1,226,832)." 

How few of us, Eusebius, would wish the realisation of the 
superfluous compliment, " May you live for ever." For my 
own part, I do not think it pleasant to have prophetic statis- 
tics thrust before you like the physicians in the Bath Guide. 

The doctors are counting how long I shall live ; I hope 
the detail given on such heads will benefit insurance com- 
panies, for whom they seem to have been manufactured : I 
may be allowed to doubt if the idle curiosity will be of other 
advantage. If, however, you have any ardent desire for 
longevity, and like the gossips would keep a crow to see if 
it be true that it lives to a hundred, it may be some satisfac- 
tion to you to know your chances. 

" In Great Britain more than half a million of the inhabi- 
tants (596,030) have passed the barrier of l threescore years 
and ten ; ' more than a hundred and twenty-nine thousand have 
passed the Psalmist's limit of fourscore years ; and 100,000 
the years which the last of Plato's climacteric square numbers 
expressed (9 times 9=81) ; nearly ten thousand (9847) have 
lived 90 years or more ; a band of 2038 aged pilgrims have 
been wandering ninety-five years and more on the unended 
journey ; and 319 say that they have witnessed more than a 
hundred revolutions of the seasons." Are you so satisfied 
with Plato's ultimatum, and is it so congenial to your "pleas- 
ing hope and fond desire," that you will clap your hands and 
say "Plato, thou reasonest well? " But if you should live 
to record the age of the old crow, I do not see why you 
should be pigeon-holed as an old wandering beggar, patheti- 
cally called a pilgrim on a weary journey. Far better that 
old age or death, kindly and amiably visiting, should find 






CIVILISATION.' — THE CENSUS. 349 

you in your easy-chair, resigned and cheerful, and sensible 
of and sensitive to all the charities of life. As some check 
to any supposed " pleasing hope and fond desire," you must 
be told that "two-thirds of the centenarians are women," 
verifying the distich, 

" The age of man is threescore years and ten, 
But that of an old woman nobody knows when." 

The Eeport gives the examples of longevity, Thomas 
Parr and Henry Jenkins. Parr lived 152 years, nine months 
— Henry Jenkins 169 years. Let me, Eusebius, for your 
comfort, present you with others. Thomas Carn died Janu- 
ary 28, 1588, aged 207 years, — parish register, St Leonard's, 
Shoreditch. And from the year 1759 to 1780 died 48 per- 
sons, the youngest aged 130 — eldest 175 ; also in 1797, a 
mulatto in Frederick Town, N. A., said to be 180. Very 
numerous examples are to be met with, in Kirby's Wonder- 
ful and Eccentric Magazine, vol. v., among which will be 
found a true Darby and Joan couple, Hungarians, John Eovel 
and Sarah his wife. John is spoken of as in his 172d year, 
and Sarah in her 184th. "Their children," adds the account, 
" two sons and two daughters, are yet alive ; the youngest 
son is 116 years of age. Dated August 25, 1725." You 
will smile at the simplicity of the compiler in the Eeport, in 
dealing in truisms. As " it can rarely, if ever, happen, that 
a husband and wife die in the same instant of time," and, in 
consequence, that "it may be assumed that, practically, every 
marriage is dissolved by the death of the husband or wife 
separately ; " that if man and wife were universally of the 
same age, and lived out together the whole cycle of life, 
" there would be neither widowers nor widows in the world." 
That it is not so moves very unnecessarily the tender bowels 
of the writer's compassion — for besides the " descending the 
vale of years," and such other funereal expressions, he breaks 



350 CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 

out into a strain of lamentation, which makes page xl. re- 
semble the scroll of Ezekiel, in which " was written lamen- 
tation, and mourning, and woe." He writes like an under- 
taker, whose lugubrious looks and utterances have a prospect 
beyond the assumed grief. I should suppose from this ex- 
pression of very superfluous sorrow, that the penman had an 
eye to a new employment in the statistics-of-woe line, from the 
Sanitary Commission, while he winds up his threnody with a 
catalogue of the " ills that flesh is heir to." " The existence 
of 382,969 widowers, and 795,590 widows, some of tender age, 
in every class of society and in every part of the country, who 
have been left — as well as their companions that have been 
taken — by fever, consumption, cholera, and the cloud of dis- 
eases that at present surround mankind — stand like sad 
monuments of our mortality, of our ignorance, negligence, 
and disobedience of the laws of nature ; and as memorials, at 
the same time, we may hope, of the sufferings from which 
the people may be delivered by sanitary discoveries and ob- 
servances." This ungrammatical (for what is the nominative 
to " stand ? ") and maudlin passage is a puff direct of the 
Sanitary Commission. It is like the outpouring, after the 
inpouring of that spirit which creates a crying inebriation. 
If the writer be a married man, and fears death, you will see, 
however, upon a second look at the passage, and statistic de- 
tails elsewhere, that there may be some cause for this lamen- 
tation. You will note, Eusebius, that whereas one of the 
two forming every married couple must be taken before the 
other, the husband is generally the one to go. For, seeing 
that there are only 382,969 widowers and 795,590 widows, 
more than double the number of widowers, the married man 
needs all encouragement at the moment of such a contem- 
plation, to give his heart any decent hope and comfort. I 
remember once this comfort was actually felt by one who 
had, as he doubtless thought, escaped his natural fate. Upon 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 351 

an attempt to sympathise with him upon the death of his 
wife, he quickly replied, in a self-gratulating tone—" Yes — 
but it might have been much worse, you know I might have 
been taken myself." The calculations prophesy a worse con- 
dition than that of Sinbad in his connubial prosperity : he 
was to survive his wife at least a few hours. 

These statistics may be useful in answering the purpose of 
Matrimonial Eegister Offices ; for they notify in what locali- 
ties widows may have the best chance of finding fresh hus- 
bands — and widowers, wives. You will think it the result of 
a deep philosophy, that this hidden truth is discovered in the 
Eeport — " The number of widows who are every year left 
depends on the mortality of the husbands; " but as much ab- 
struse truth, in the shape of matter of fact, may require ex- 
planation, it is thus given : " Where the rate of mortality 
among husbands is doubled, the number who become widows 
(in italics) is also doubled." Lest this should not be clear 
enough, and clearness is the very virtue of statistic writing, 
know that — " Any diminution in the mortality of men will 
therefore diminish the relative number of widows." Neither 
bachelors nor old maids (I hate, Eusebius, the ill-nature of 
the world that makes me write reluctantly the latter) will 
have reason to congratulate themselves, " fancy free " as 
they may now be from the cares and troubles of married life, 
for there is an intimation in this Census Eeport very awful 
for them. Let them count up with increasing astonishment 
at every thousand, or ten thousand, the married couples, the 
children they are likely to produce, and calculate what is to 
become of them. Then let them turn to the threat in the 
Census. They really may well be terrified. Lamb, in his 
admirable quaint way, somewhere speaking of marriages, 
alluding to the happy man who prays to have his " quiver 
full" of children, humorously • protests against having the 
said quiver shot out upon him. Has the Census speculator 



352 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

taken a serious hint from Lamb's quaint joke ? Hear, bache- 
lors, and maids, what a Census in progression prepares for 
you, unprepared as you may be for it ! 

" The great number of childless parents, of unmarried per- 
sons, of orphans, and of large families, particularly among 
the poor, sanctions the practice of adoption, and points out 
the propriety of distributing destitute orphans and other 
children — who are now kept at great expense by parishes, 
in workhouses, or by societies in large buildings — among 
the childless families, who would cherish the children with a 
sort of parental affection." Would they indeed? then, if so, 
Eusebius, you and I, and most people beside, know nothing 
of human nature. It is hard sometimes to keep up the 
heat of a true " parental affection," but a " sort of parental 
affection" is a sort of affection below zero. The passage 
doesn't look like wit, but can it be a serious proposal? It 
will certainly find a place among the Rejected Addresses, or 
among those curiosities of thought and invention which are 
said to be pigeon-holed in the moon. This scheme will 
offer some good subjects for the pencil of Punch. The 
pauper Pater-familias, being his own relieving officer, walk- 
ing unconcernedly with his eight or nine unprovided-fors 
hand-in-hand, and dropping them one by one, within unwel- 
coming doors, — or the reception by an aged spinster of a 
lubberly boy, or an unweaned infant — or the nervous 
bachelor in his quiet lodgings, disturbed by an instant 
demand upon his dormant affections by the entrance of a 
parish officer and an overburthened parent, to deliver into 
his keeping twin babies and a wet-nurse. 

As in No. I. of the Census, so in No. II. The great 
official Busybody rolls about his tub with a great deal of 
profitless industry. In this part, also, are maps and dia- 
grams, playthings for little or for grown-up children who 
want idle amusement. The ages of married and unmarried, 



CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 353 

and of husbands and wives relatively, are thought worthy of 
laboured diagram and tables. " The degree of disparity 
(age of husband and wife) differs, and is greatest at the 
extreme age of either sex ; " where else could it be ? " The 
disparity of age has a wide range, and the returns show one 
instance in which a man of 30-35 is married to a woman 
90-95, and four in which men of 95-100 are married to 
women of 45-50. In one instance it appears in the tables 
that a girl of 18 is married to a man of 100 ; but this is an 
error." An error indeed in the tables ! Then why admitted? 
The worst of errors is, to have an error in statistics of 
matters of fact. But I doubt very much if it be an error, as, 
if one, it is not accounted for. I am, Eusebius, unwilling to 
spare the census-maker as to his error, because he lacks charity 
in respect of those " unprotected females," whose privilege 
it is and ought to be to tell little innocent fibs in very delicate 
matters. What business has this big Busybody to expose 
such harmless peccadilloes in the face of the world ? He 
would drag them bodily unmercifully by the hair of their 
heads into light if he could, and did not mistrust the colour 
of it ; to announce to the world that it is grey at 25 : how 
pitiless he is ! He publishes as a fact that 35,000 must have 
told monstrous fibs. Take, Eusebius, the ipsissima verba. 
" The conclusion appears to be inevitable that some 35,000 
ladies, more or less, who have entered themselves in the 
second age, 20-40, really belong to the third age, 40-60, to 
which the body of delinquents are transferred in Table 7." 
Delinquents indeed ! He is himself the great delinquent, for 
what is it to him, if they profess to know their own ages 
better than he can ? Whereas his knowledge is a mere pre- 
tence, made up of odious figures that nobody can follow, and 
bound up after all in a " more or less." What has a statis- 
tician to do with a li more or less," and to pretend to matter 
of fact? But he takes upon him to read these 35,000 

z 



354 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

(though I verily believe they are as fabulous as the Eleven 
Thousand Virgins of Cologne) a lecture on the subject thus : 
"Millions of women have returned their ages correctly. 
Thousands have allowed themselves to be called 20, or some 
age near it, which happens to be the age at which marriage 
is most commonly contracted in England, either because the}' 
were quite unconscious of the silent lapse of time" (here he 
is caught fibbing himself, for he does not believe any such 
thing), " or because their imaginations still lingered over the 
hours of that age ; or because they chose foolishly to repre- 
sent themselves younger than they really were, at the 
scandalous risk of bringing the statements of the whole of 
their countrywomen into discredit." " Scandalous risk " 
indeed — how gauche ! here is a deficiency of manners and 
common sense too. He ought to know that all their country- 
women would step out in their defence and vouch for their 
veracity. He had better not be caught among them with 
that tale in his mouth. Helen of Troy was, say some over- 
curious people, near upon a hundred when the Greeks and 
Trojans fought their fatal fight about her ; but the gallant 
writers of those days had the " Gentlemen Pagans' " for- 
bearance, and never said a word about it. Neither Homer 
nor the dramatists after him dared the insult upon her femi- 
nine honour. Although she caused the destruction of Troy, 
none called her a " delinquent," though in her modesty she 
gave herself a worse name, which out of reverence for the sex 
I will not put into English. Of all " unprotected females" 
— something of the kind was noticed before — Scotchwomen 
are the most unprotected ; but let them find consolation in a 
spiteful longevity. " Scotchmen die in greater numbers than 
Scotchwomen, or they leave the women of Scotland at home 
when they cross the Tweed, as well as when they emigrate, 
and do not marry; or marry English wives. So that to 100 
men at the ages, 20-40, 40-60, 60-80, 80-100, the enuinera- 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 355 

tors of 1851 found respectively 112, 117, 135, and 159 

women in Scotland. This great disparity of the sexes, which 
pervades so many counties of Scotland, well deserves careful 
investigation, in connection with the law of marriage, the 
household manners, and the occupations of the people." 
Scotchmen leave their lasses behind them when they cross 
the Tweed ! — a pretty story indeed. How should ill-man- 
nered Census know that ? Did Scotchmen walk into England 
with enumerators at their backs ? I can't believe this, 
Eusebius ; there is another " error " to rectify. I would 
rather think the statistics a little cooked in this matter, than 
that they have degenerated from the character given of them 
in the song, and in the loving nature of their own Bard, who 
" dearly loved the lasses, ! " and described them so delight- 
fully, that Englishmen have longed to cross the Tweed to 
get a sight of them. Who were they but Scotchwomen of 
whom sang he who sang so well, — 

" There's nought but care on every han', 
In every hour that passes, ; 
What signifies the life of man, 
An' 'twere not for the lasses, ! " ? 

Be sure, Eusebius, it was the invention of some " rejected " 
enumerator, who, in spite for what was above his reach, 
maligned them by insinuation, as the fox in the fable did 
the grapes. 

I must, I grieve to say, check this playful vein. Here I 
find very serious matter indeed. I find a sad charge against 
our great trade towns. One can almost imagine one sees a 
Moloch enthroned in each, and children sacrificed on his 
altar. This is a frightful account : " Of 100,000 children 
born in Liverpool only 44,797 live to the age of 20, while in 
Surrey that age is attained by 70,885 out of the same 
number of children born. The probable lifetime is about 6 
years in our unhealthiest towns, 52 years in Surrey, and 



356 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

other comparatively healthy parts. In Manchester, where 
the mortality is high, 100,000 annual births only sustain at 
the ages 20-40, a male population of 38,919 ; while in all 
England and Wales, where the mortality is now much lower, 
the same number of births produces a constant force of 61,21 5 
men at that age, and at other ages similar disparities in the 
numbers living exist. Now, the mortality was not much less 
in all England formerly than it is now in Manchester, and 
the great diminution in the mortality of England evidently 
took place at such a period of the last and present centuries 
as left proportionally more survivors at the ages 20-40 in 
1851 than at the corresponding ages in 1821, for the dangers 
and loss of life incurred by the generations born in the 40 
years 1781-1801 were greater than those encountered by the 
generations born in the years 1811-1831." In a note append- 
ed, is an extract from the Eegistrar-General's 7th Eeport. 
" In Manchester, 100,000 children born are reduced to about 
half that number (49,910) in six years." " The probable life- 
time is about six years" It behoves the Legislature seriously 
to look to this fact. How can we expect God's blessing upon 
our boasted manufactures, or upon the wealth they have 
accumulated, if obtained at such a cost of human life ? Does 
this massacre of childhood arise from the debility of over- 
worked and perhaps too youthful parents, from overheated 
and ill-ventilated manufactories, or, as may not be unlikely, 
from the tasked work of young mothers, at a time when they 
should be chiefly occupied in the care of their offspring ? 
From whatever state of things this great evil arises, it ought 
not to be, and surely the people as one man should look to 
the Legislature to provide proper sanitary and other means 
to check a national cruelty. 

In the page of the Census from which I have made the 
above frightful extract, I find two curious notes as to the 
difficulty of ascertaining ages ; they make one view with 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 357 

some distrust the clottings down of any and all the enume- 
rators. " A statistician of eminence informed M. Moreau de 
Jennes, that after many persevering, but fruitless attempts, 
he abandoned in despair an inquiry having for its object to 
determine the ages of his wife and his cook." 

" In 1841, the Census Commissioners allowed persons of 
the ages of 34 or 33 or 32 to call themselves 30, and so for 
other ages." This little indulgence is amusing ; it either 
shows the commissioners' despair to equal that of M. Moreau 
Jennes' friend the statistician, or that they had quite as 
much sense, and a little more charity, than the commissioners 
of 1851. 

After all, Eusebius, there can be but little reliance on any 
accounts of people's ages ; some falsify out of mere joke at 
the unexpected question, and some on purpose. I have 
heard of so many expedients resorted to, to avoid the im- 
pertinent questioning, that I give little faith to the Census. 
I know one instance of a cook, of at least 70, who, hearing 
from below her master questioned, laughingly called out 18, 
so she was dotted down at 18 ; for her master — though some, 
not you, Eusebius, will be sorry to hear it — was a clergy- 
man, and had that grave politeness which distinguishes the 
Church of England rectors, vicars, and curates, and I hope 
archdeacons, deans, and bishops, not to contradict her; and 
this clergyman's conduct I would hold out for example to all 
enumerators and Census men. Another case I am acquainted 
with, where a lady, living in lodgings, communicating with 
an adjacent lodging-house, all under one landlady, dodged in 
and out from one house to the other, so that she escaped giving 
in publicly her age ; but being a conscientious person, such 
as those who weekly enclose omitted taxes to the Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer, she followed the enumerator, and 
gave him a paper with her age on it. And here it occurs 
to me to confute the lecturing Census reporter, by a very 



358 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

natural suggestion, that if the ages put down by these 
35,000 " delinquents " are erroneous, how does he know but 
that very conscientious returns may have been since made — 
or will be made, and he should, from the example of tax- 
payers, have thought it probable — to the great " Quinbus 
Flestrin " of a Eegistrar, who has not taken, and in all proba- 
bility never will take, the trouble to look at them. Look at 
them or not, that is no fault of the 35,000 Fair Innocents ; and 
if their conscientious returns are but so much waste paper, it is 
just what all the returns, and the whole costly Census, will be 
very soon, at least as to this matter of age scrutiny. Some 
I know determined not to sleep at all that fatal night, that 
they might conscientiously escape ; some say they could not 
sleep, dreading what is vulgarly called " cold pig," at the 
hands of an intruding enumerator, because they were told 
the scrutiny would be very particular. 

I am now come to a page (xxxviii.) where the great 
Gulliver philosophises, and is proud of his philosophy. He 
envies astrologists and alchymists, and thinks his the only 
philosopher's stone, as he is quite sure that he has found the 
elixir of life. He boasts that the necromancer was nothing 
in comparison with him ; for the necromancer only professed 
to bring up the dead, whereas he brings down with a flourish 
of his pen the living to the dead condition. He proposes 
himself as the only fortune-teller, beating all to sticks the 
great Mistress Williams. He will tell you to an hour either 
when you were or ought to have been born ; when you must 
die of spoon-meat, or live six years or upwards by natural 
suction ; when you must marry or must live single, and as 
the very pith of his philosophy, that if you die young, you 
certainly will not live to be old. Almanac-makers with their 
conjectures are dead ; but Gulliver's Census survives to tell 
all the world all that all the world ought to know ; and with 
a pride quite beyond his usual modesty, he heads his im- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 359 

portant announcement of his possible doings thus : " Useful 
Applications of Eeal Knowledge." He promises to be the 
only and true intelligencer, the regulator of life and death, 
the marrier of children, the director of institutions, and the 
sole physician to " mitigate the calamities of premature 
death." Being assured, Eusebius, that you never met with, 
and probably never heard of, so wonderful a Gulliver, I 
extract for your use or amusement, according as you may 
wish to be deceived or laugh, this account which he gives of 
his marvellous self, — 

" Without entering into any further or profounder analysis, 
it is sufficiently evident that the returns open a new field of 
philosophical inquiry into a subject which has hitherto been 
treated lightly ; and that the fortune-teller may yet share the 
glory or the shame of the astrologists and the alchyrnists, whose 
success was the evidence of undiscovered truth, as well as of their 
bold rapacity, and of mankind's credulity. The passions and 
affections of men are governed by laws as certain as those of the 
heavenly bodies ; but it is not true — as the phenomena are 
complicated — that the acts of particular individuals can always 
be predicted ; and in discarding this notion we get rid of the 
vulgar error ; but it is true that the acts of numbers of indi- 
viduals can be predicted with sufficient certainty for practical 
purposes ; for the marriage returns and these enumerations, in 
conjunction with the Life Table, furnish the means of calculating 
the chances that a man or woman, young or old, and unmarried, 
will marry before, in, or after a given year of age — of calculating 
the probability of remaining a spinster or a bachelor, or of being 
in the married state at any given age, — the probability of bearing- 
children, — or of being a widower or a widow ; and these calcula- 
tions will serve, not merely to gratify idle curiosity, but to guide 
the course of men's lives, to regulate the population, to make 
provisions for children who marry, as well as for those who do 
not marry, and to direct the establishment and conduct of social 
institutions which may mitigate the calamities of premature 
death." 

Facts are not always facts, Eusebius ; there are such things 
as facts with a difference — facts that a skilful player for mere 



360 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 



sport sets up like ninepins, only to be knocked down by the 
band of him, the judicious bowler, with a little bowl that he 
has in his hand, always with a bias, that conies unexpectedly 
round a corner of the ground, and lays every fact prostrate. 
Thus this sporting conjuror, having settled the fact that to 
every one hundred husbands who have married once in a 
stationary community there would be about 33 widowers, 
and to every 100 wives 40 widows, adroitly bowls down 
these facts, husbands and wives, widowers and widows ; 
and sets up anew his ninepins of somewhat different pro- 
portions, saying, " Instead of 33 and 40, which are the 
results of the above hypothesis, the actual proportions are 
immediately altered by withdrawing from the ranks (that 
is, knocking down by his bias ball) of the married those 
who have at one time been widowers or widows. 1 ' This reminds 
me of an accountant who declared in my presence that he 
could make a debtor or creditor side appear as he pleased. 
But what is the use, Eusebius, of all this real or unreal 
knowledge, this game of ninepins, upon an imaginary popu- 
lation ? Is it to amuse the world, which he says is younger 
than it should be — " the population is now younger than it 
would be by the natural standard" — that he sets up these 
children's plays, these kind of Cheshire puzzles ; these play- 
things of diagrams and mappings, on which to open his tee- 
totum ? Madame de Stael thought the world was fifteen 
years of age, Census treats it with toys that would befit it in 
its infancy. I pointed out to you some of those childish 
diagrams in my last paper ; such as told you how you and 
your neighbour were approaching each other, dreading a 
collision ; and referred you to the silliness of Density and 
Proximity Games or Tables. In this part I find one scarcely 
less childish — a map of England coloured over with hiero- 
glyphics, as hats, hose, guns, boots, meant to denote the 
localities of trades, and other figures for occupations in 



he 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 361 

mines, &c. Whether generally correct or not I care not to 
examine. I see in one instance an error, coal being marked 
where I should be extremely happy if any could be found. 
These sportive maps and diagrams must have cost a great 
deal of money ; but also a great deal of money was to be 
earned in providing them, and Busybody must roll about his 
tub to show that as every 1000 of the population would have 
to pay £5, 4s., they would not have to pay so much for 
absolutely nothing ; therefore, next to nothing in utility, 
but a great deal in show, has been turned out of Busybody's 
tub as it went round. Thus, how everybody employs him- 
self is discovered. I am only afraid of an after discovery 
and enumeration of the drones, as some economists please to 
call them, of society ; whom, when such economists become 
both enumerators and governors in this our land, it may 
please them to drive out of the hive ; but who are, and who 
are not drones — like the old epigram in troublesome times, 
" which is the King, and which is the Pretender" — must be 
left for the statistics of some new commissioners, when uni- 
versal suffrage and the ballot-box prevail. We may have a 
glimpse of the matter from the present Census, which, after 
enumerating the learned professions, gives this important 
fact to ruminate upon : " The three professions, with their 
allied and subordinate members not differing greatly from 
the average of 37,000 to each, amount to 110,730, and their 
importance cannot be overrated ; yet, in point of mere num- 
bers, they would be outvoted by the tailors of the kingdom." 
This would verify the old saying, for, in elections for a par- 
liament man, the " nine tailors" would certainly make him. 

The three learned professions, as they are usually called, 
do not very much differ from each other in numbers. 
"The clergy of the Established Churches (18,587), lawyers 
(16,763), and the medical men (18,728), differ little from 
each other in numbers ; and, in the aggregate, amount to 



362 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

540,78." These are the guardians of the public morals, 
rights, and health. If the question of the Roman satirist be 
asked, Who shall watch the guardians ? — the inquirer may 
derive some satisfaction in learning, as he may by turning to 
the lists, that there is a policeman to every three, and a few 
over. The policemen being 18,318 (a trifle less than the clergy), 
multiplied by three, they make 55,024. The overplus, 946, 
being possibly thought a proper additional force to keep a 
look-out upon the higher functionaries of divinity and law, arch- 
bishops, bishops, deans and their chapters, lord-chancellors, 
judges of the several courts, &c. &c, — such jealous politicians 
as Sir B. Hall will scarcely think the extra number sufficient. 
But here, Eusebius, this penman Gulliver of the Census 
seems to have committed a numerical error — for a statisti- 
cian strange. It has been seen that in the " Results and 
Observations" he has put down the clergy of the Established 
Churches at 18,587, whereas in the tabular list they stand 
at 17,621, a difference of 966 ; but I find in Class III., 
p.cxxviii., "Missionary, Scripture Reader, Itinerant Preacher, 
965, one short of the number. But as 3 of these 965 are 
under twenty years of age, they cannot be Clergy of the 
Established Church ; and if meant to make up the number, 
as in the Report, 18,587, by deducting these 3, the amount 
will be short by 4. Then, again, these 965 do not seem 
to belong to the Established Church, as they follow the 
enumeration of Wesleyans.* As the religious portion of the 

* A statistician has no business to take his readers into a labyrinth of error 

without affording them a clue to get out of it. Essential things at least ought 

to be patent, and not put into a foot-note. I had long puzzled over the 

figures in the text, when I discovered such a note of explanation : — 

Clergy of Church of England, . . . 17,320 

Channel Islands, ..... 143 

Scotland, . . . . . .1,120 






18,583 
At the same time, reference being made to Summary Table xxvni., page 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 363 

Census was intrusted to a Dissenter, it is not surprising he 
should make a confusion, in a matter regarding an Estab- 
lished Church. Of the Fourth Class — Poets, Historians, 
Painters, Sculptors, Musicians, Architects, Natural Philoso- 
phers — it is said : " To this class belong the Shakespeares, 
Humes, Handels, Eaphaels, Michael Angelos, Wrens, and 
Newtons." A satirist may say, " I wish you may get them." 
They may have belonged to other Censuses, but how belong 
to this ! Gulliver, to magnify present times, pluralises them 
all and each. 

I did not expect to find among the Occupations of the Fifth 
Class — maternal duties, because maternal and paternal 
duties, one or other, seem by their nature to be the partici- 
pation of all classes. But G-ulliver Census loves to sweeten 
his bitter of weariness, and indulges now and then in a little 
eloquential gossip, as by the wayside of his statistical 
travel. The duties of wife, therefore, turn up as a capital 
subject for a glib pen, and entire mental rest, the fatigue 
of the work being thrown upon the reader. Census also 
exhibits his easy learning on the occasion, talks of the 
" Guinoeontis " and of Eoman women, quotes the Greek of 
St Paul, and in a matter of so great importance as the boun- 
dary or no boundary of female rule over a household, recom- 
mends a new translation of the Greek word oixodsfr-rorziv, and 
thereby a positive female despotism, if he had put it down 
in plain English as I have done. The Eights of Women 
Society might, with infinite thanks, have adopted him into 

ccxl., which, to my surprise, proved to be a Table of the Occupations of 
Women ! 

On turning to the tables in which the professions are classified, for confir- 
mation of these numbers, I observe — 

Clergy of Established Church in Great Britain and Islands, . . 17,621, 
being a deficiency of 966. Of this discrepancy, after much search, I find the 
explanation in another foot-note, which states that the Clergy of the Estab- 
lished Church in Scotland are, in the tables, not treated as such, but are 
classed as "Protestant Ministers." 



364 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

their guild. They will not, however, owe him an obligation 
for reminding them of Penelope and her spinning maids in 
blank verse, or in vulgar prose of " washing, cooking, cleans- 
ing, nursing, teaching, and other offices," or, as they wonld 
deem, impositions of slavery. 

I will not attempt to go through, the Tables of Occupa- 
tions. You would be astonished, Eusebius, to see what 
multitudes of trades there are you never thought of. What 
a comfort to the prosperous, to rejoice in the idea that among 
so many there will be sure to be berths for their poor rela- 
tions. Certain practitioners in the medical line will not 
thank him for his classifying them among "empirics." 
" Empirics of various kinds — worm doctors, homoeopathic pro- 
fessors, herb doctors, and hydropathic practitioners, figure in 
the sub-class to a small extent." 

In what class should he have placed statisticians ? 

You will think a chapter of some length on " The Birth- 
place of the People " more curious than useful. Census pro- 
fesses the Tables to be interesting, which is at least a useful 
epithet, offering the largest possible latitude to classifiers. 
" These tables are interesting, as they show the composition 
of the town and other communities ; the intimate blending 
of people together who were born in town and country ; the 
concentration of people in every county, and almost in every 
district, who were born in other counties, as well as in other 
countries ; and the migration that is constantly going on, 
and was directed in the last ten years, chiefly from the 
country to the towns, from Ireland to Scotland and to 
England, and from the United Kingdom to Canada, the 
United States, and Australia." The advantages or disad- 
vantages of emigration from the mother country, as affecting 
the interests of the nation at large, must depend upon the 
character of the emigrants. Labour and industry are capi- 
tal: in encouraging or forcing its emigration surely we 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 365 

impoverish the nation. The land, if cultivated to its utmost, 
would require all these departing hands. Independently of 
what they take out, in going, they remove wealth from the 
community. This is shown by transfer from one place to 
another, thus in the statistics : "So that 4521 of the youth 
of Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex leave their native counties 
every year, to reap elsewhere the fruits of the education, 
skill, and vigour which they have derived at great expense 
from their parents at home." To this the following note is 
appended : " The present value of the future earnings of an 
agricultural labourer in Norfolk is about £482, at the age of 
twenty — the present value of his subsistence at that age is 
£248 ; leaving £234 as the net value of his services. Con- 
sequently, the 4521 emigrants of this class carry away a 
large amount of capital which they have acquired in their 
native counties." This view applies also to emigration to 
other countries. 

Is a free circulation of the people, like a free circulation 
of its coin, an increase of its wealth? It is a question be- 
yond me. The modern facilities of removal from place to 
place must in many ways affect the population. The Physi- 
ognomical character will not remain as now, or formerly 
rather, fixed in several localities. 

Mr De Quincey, who keenly observes and deeply thinks, 
makes these remarks, — 

" The character of face varies essentially in different provinces. 
Wales has no connection in this respect with Devonshire, nor Kent 
with Yorkshire, nor either with Westmoreland. England, it is 
true, tends, beyond all known examples, to a general amalgama- 
tion of differences, by means of its unrivalled freedom of inter- 
course. Yet, even in England, law and necessity have opposed as 
yet such and so many obstacles to the free diffusion of labour, that 
every generation occupies, by at least five-sixths of its numbers, 
the ground of its ancestors. 

" The movable part of a population is chiefly the higher part ; 
and it is the lower classes that, in every nation, compose the 



366 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

fundus, in which lies latent the national face, as well as the national 
character. Each exists here in racy purity and integrity, not dis- 
turbed in the one by alien intermarriages, nor in the other by 
novelties of opinion, or other casual effects, derived from education 
and reading. Now, look into this fundus, and you will find, in 
many districts, no such prevalence of the round orbicular face, as 
some people erroneously suppose : and in Westmoreland, espe- 
cially, the ancient long face of the Elizabethan period, powerfully 
resembling in all its lineaments the ancient Roman face, and often 
(though not so uniformly) the face of northern Italy in modern 
times." — Autobiographic Sketches by De Quincey, p. 245. 

Family portraits of past generations, — taken at a time 
when there was little travelling to and fro, and a "journey 
to London " was an epoch in a life, and, if the incident in 
Tristram Shandy be borrowed from known facts, was a stipu- 
lation inserted in marriage settlements — family portraits, I 
say, of those days show very remarkable local likenesses. 
Kaces were preserved, and county differed from county phy- 
siognomically, as in character of soil and climate. Whether 
the more large intermixture, which modern habits of travel 
and removal are producing, will be beneficial to the health, 
strength, and beauty of the race as a whole, or whether for 
other reasons it be or be not desirable, are questions for phi- 
losophy to determine. If we may form an opinion from the 
physiognomy of the people in the parts in England that re- 
ceive large supplies to their population from Wales and Ire- 
land, personal appearances are likely to be much improved. 
It may be asked, also, if a moral improvement is evident. 
The ties of unchanging families, the attachment to local 
homes, if they do not sharpen the intellect, greatly cultivate 
close affections and sympathies, and these home attachments 
centralise in the human breast that love of country, which is 
weakened by being dissipated in a larger area. In small 
circles every individual is known. The consciousness of his 
responsibility to a neighbourhood is felt, and this is a moral 
sense. The farther a man goes, and the more frequently, 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 367 

the sooner he is apt to consider himself a citizen of the world : 
while trade and merchandise, the occupations of most people, 
encourage the ubiquitous idea. Ubiquitous persons acquire 
a sharpness, a cleverness ; a "vagabond" is seldom a fool, a 
" vagrant " is but another name for a knave in our common 
vocabulary. Of local physiognomy and person, there is an 
amusing illustration in lithographic print. It is in a very 
pleasant and useful little book, The Greatest Plague of Life, 
on the relative behaviour to each other of servants and mis- 
tresses. The print exhibits a female servant who comes to 
be hired. No one who knows the peculiar race could doubt 
for a moment that the Woman comes from the county Cork. 
But, fearing if her native country would be quite acceptable, 
you see at a glance how her mouth is made up, and a twirl 
of the brogue is on it to suit what she is made to sa}^, that 
she comes "from Cor-r-n-wall." The writer of this portion 
of the Census Eeport is of opinion, that a great change will 
take place with regard to the birthplaces of the British popu- 
lation. Sanitary improvements may cause that many cities 
and towns will keep up their population ; but I think that, 
while writing the following passage, he must have forgotten 
altogether his statistics regarding the young population of 
Manchester, and the life-duration of six years : " Hitherto 
the population has migrated from the high or the compara- 
tively healthy ground of the country to the cities and seaport 
towns, in which few families have lived for two generations. 
But it is evident that henceforward the great cities will not 
be like camps — or the fields on which the people of other 
places exercise their energies and industry — but the birth- 
places of a large part of the British races." The former por- 
tion of this passage seems to contradict a common saying in 
Somersetshire, which you have often heard, Eusebius, that 
those of the hills who marry into the low vales seldom live 
long, and vice versa, of the natives of the vales, thus migrat- 



368 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

ing to the hills. There is a universal sense, whether it be 
prejudice, instinct, or reason, that proclaims the value of 
" native air." The sick seek it for the restoration of health, 
even though it be less pure than that they are leaving. A 
change of air from home is a temporary, not a permanent 
benefit ; the best change after a time is that which takes 
back the patient. Such removals are more often for change 
of scene, and home vexations, than for another air than the 
patient's own native. I remember many years ago an old 
man in his hundredth year being induced by a daughter, 
under the notion of change of air, to come from the hills of 
Monmouthshire, where he was born, and from which he had 
never migrated, to visit Bristol. I saw him as soon as he 
arrived ; he was hale : certainly, he fixed his abode in not 
the cleanest or most airy locality. As well as I remember, 
he did not live a week there. Old people can ill bear changes 
of localities or habits. It is a well-known story of the very 
old man who was, out of an ill-timed compassion, taken from 
breaking stones in the road, and transferred to better living 
and no work. He died at once. He knew his work was 
done — his work, such as it was, and such as his mind was, 
was his mind's vital motion, as it was his bodily habit. The 
circulation stopped, both in body and mind : it killed him. 

There is something very childish in the Table to show the 
tendency of the inhabitants of every county " to go to Lon- 
don." A mechanician might make a child's toy of it, as a 
Eoundabout, with its horses bridled, and carriages ticketed, 
" To London," « To York," &o. &c. 

I am glad, Eusebius, after this, to come to something really 
useful, because it is of a benevolent kind ; and that will, I 
am sure, cover some out of the multitude of sins of imperti- 
nent statistics. It is, of " the blind and the deaf and dumb/' 
There may be little reason to doubt individual charities — - 
but such statistics may be the means of directing more ear- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 369 

nestly the zeal of the Home Department of the Government, 
to provide ample means for the alleviation of the unhappy 
condition of the blind and the deaf and dumb. The blind 
are to the population of Great Britain and the British Islands 
as 1 in 975. The deaf and dumb are to the same population 
as 1 in 1670. This is curious. " Looking at the distribu- 
tion of the deaf and dumb over the face of Great Britain, we 
find them to be more common in the agricultural and pastoral 
districts, especially where the country is hilly, than in those 
containing a large amount of town population." You will 
observe here that deafness is united with dumbness. The 
reason is evident ; deafness is generally of degree, and so is 
subject to remedial or alleviating appliances ; nor in extreme 
cases does it cut off communication of the individual with his 
fellows, and it is not unfrequently only a pretence. But that 
need have no tendency to stop charity which is best bestowed 
upon institutions. To be born deaf is to be born dumb. 
There is a most curious case of partial dumbness, so vouched 
for by many most respectable witnesses, and beyond suspi- 
cion, whom I have myself known, and who have narrated it 
to me, that, account for it how you may, it must be difficult 
to doubt the fact. It is told in Phelps's History of Somerset- 
shire. The wife of a farmer near Glastonbury having brought 
him three daughters, in his disappointment at having no son, 
he vowed that if another daughter should be born, he would 
never speak to her. A son was born, but in him the curse of 
the vow, as it may be well called, was literally realised by a 
transfer of partial dumbness. The son up to thirty years of 
age, the duration of his father's life, never spoke to him — nor 
could he speak to any male. At his father's death, this curse 
was loosened from his tongue. To the astonishment of all, 
he could from that day address males and females, like other 
people. I believe this anecdote may also be found in the 
Lancet of 1831. Of course it will be accounted for as coming 

2 A 



370 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

under the phenomena of nervous affections : some will put 
another construction upon it. 

" Public Institutions — Inmates of workhouses, prisons, 
lunatic asylums, and hospitals," make up another valuable 
chapter in the Census. Of prisons, it is said for the honour 
of the fair sex that they are but a small proportion of the 
inmates. " The total number of persons in the different 
piisons, bridewells, convict depots, and hulks in Great 
Britain, on the 31st March 1851, was 26,855—22,451 males, 
and 4,404 females." Before, however, the country can 
have just cause for congratulation upon this subject, it ought 
to know how many villains, scoundrels, and thieves are 
roaming or lurking about the land who ought to be in prison. 
This is a matter worthy the attention of statisticians. But 
there seems to be a wonderful sparing of roguery. It was 
but the other day I read of a case at one of our police-offices, 
which exemplifies this unseemly sparing. A gentleman had 
complained of the total stripping of the leaves off certain of 
his trees by juvenile offenders. It turned out that they were 
employed by adulterators of tea. The magistrate threatened 
that, upon a repetition of the offence, he would publish the 
names of the employers — why did he not do it at once ? 

I wrote to you in my last but slightly of the Malthusian 
doctrine of the law of population. Its selfishness was shock- 
ing — so shocking, indeed, as to lead many minds to doubt 
the benevolence of the Creator as the Giver of food, and 
Maker of his creatures. I rejoice to find that the truth which 
is in Malthus's doctrine has been sifted from the false. The 
refutation shows how one error in a principle, which compre- 
hends, as in this case of food and population, two elements, 
destroys its essential character. Malthus left out one element, 
that which arises out of the nature of man — man's industry — 
by which omission he rendered his theory a theory of cruelty 
and selfishness, and unacceptable, nay, odious, to the thinking 



CIVILISATION. —THE CENSUS. 371 

and feeling portion of mankind. I quote with pleasure the 
better exposition of that law by Sir James Steuart, as given 
in the Census Eeport, wherein is also a full statement regard- 
ing Malthus and his doctrine : — 

" All that is peculiar in this doctrine, all that is erroneous, and 
all that has shocked the public opinion of the country, ever since 
its enunciation, flows from a flagrant oversight, which might be 
pardoned in a young, hasty controversialist, but should assuredly 
have been at once taken into account when it was discovered in 
the light of Sir James Steuart' s original analytical work that had 
been first published in 1767. Malthusianism had, however, 
become a sect ; had been persecuted, and was modified and softened, 
but still upheld by its disciples. 

" Sir James Steuart, who wrote before Adam Smith, lays down 
the fundamental principle of Malthus, but limits it by a preceding, 
overruling proposition. (1.) We find, he says, the productions of 
all countries, generally speaking, in proportion to the number of 
their inhabitants ; and (2), on the other hand (as Malthus asserts), 
the inhabitants are most commonly in proportion to the food. 
Steuart then shows that the food of the world may be divided into 
two portions : (A.) the natural produce of the earth ; and (B.) the 
portion which is created by human industry. (A.) corresponds to 
the food of animals, and is the limit to the number of savages. 
(B.) is the product of industry, and increases (all other things being 
equal) in proportion to the numbers of civilised men. 

" The whole of the chapter on Population in Steuart' s work 
should be consulted. Malthus, it will be observed, loses sight of 
this analysis, and throughout his work confounds the yield of the 
untilled earth with the produce of human industry ; which increases 
at least as rapidly as the numbers of civilised men, and will 
increase until the resources of science are exhausted, and the world 
is peopled." 

And now, Eusebius, I bring my long letter to a close. If 
I have thrown some ridicule upon the Census, and laughed 
at some of its childish work, and shown myself rather suspi- 
cious of a public Busybody, and, like most people, have a 
general dislike to being too closely questioned, and being 
made up, as it were, into a parcel or a kind of railway pack- 
age on its way to London, with a ticket plastered on my back, 



372 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

while the inside shall contain an inventory of all my goods 
and chattels, and a narrative of all my minutest concerns, 
the destination of all which parcel of myself is some pigeon- 
hole in a metropolitan office — and for what purport, it is past 
the wit of man to divine, but every man's wit may suspect to 
be particularly mischievous to him — although I say I have, 
and think most people have, an antipathy to these doings of 
a public Busybody, I am not insensible to the utility of a 
census properly directed. Surely the whole people have cause 
to dread the encroachments of Questioners ; and it has been 
shown how, since 1801, our statisticians have encroached 
upon the Englishman's home, his " castle" — perhaps, for 
aught we know, undermining it while he is fast asleep. That 
Table of Proximity and Density is enough to make a nervous 
man try hourly the extent of his elbow-room, to dream of a 
stream of population rushing in upon him, or dropping down 
upon him to crush him, or like wolves to devour him, in a 
land where population may be increasing, and food decreas- 
ing. We are all, Eusebius, nervous about something or 
other, and should prefer being let alone ; but do not suspect 
me on account of the last sentence to be a Malthusian. It 
must be a wholesome maxim for a nation to follow, to obey 
the command " Increase and multiply," and trust in Him who 
made us, that He will bountifully supply food for all. 

Dear Eusebius, 

Yive Yaleque. 



CIVILISATION. -THE CENSUS, 

EDUCATION. 

[JANUARY 1855.] 

Have you duly considered, my dear Eusebius, the imperti- 
nence of being alive at your time of life ? — an impertinence 
to those who are to succeed you, and are waiting for you to 
make room for them (I mean not your successors in blood and 
affection — they would wish you never to depart — but those 
who, crowding in upon vitality, as the Census says, rather 
want your room than your company) — an impertinence, too, 
flying in the face of Gulliver Census, who has already noted 
you down as a probable defunct, and will have the vexation 
of altering his half- cooked next return. 

A great man once declared his love of life in these strange 
words, " I don't care if I am hanged, provided it be a hundred 
years hence." A friend present, whose love of life was as 
great, and his hatred of any limitation greater, asked him if 
he was quite serious, adding : " For my part, then, I wish I 
maybe present, and assist in singing the penitential psalm." 
Eusebius, consider what daily, hourly provocations to die 
both these gentlemen must have experienced, in the taunts 
and insinuations of expectants and census-makers — all 
plainly saying, you have no business to be alive on the face 



374 CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 

of the earth. The very children in the villages will be 
taught census-reading and life-calculations, in village schools, 
under Government inspectors ; and, as holiday sport, hoot 
after such superannuates as you, and try to pelt you into the 
churchyard — alas ! not before your time. 

Keep up, Eusebius, your pleasant humour to the last ! 
Eemember how near the 30th of March is to " All Fools' 
Day ; " and serve the officers and official annual inquisitor, 
when he next comes, sure of booking you as defunct, as 
Madam B. did her heir — a sprightly old lass in her hundredth 
year. She rang her bell violently at one in the morning, and 
when the nephew came down to receive her last breath and 
his inheritance, she lifted her jocund face from the bed- 
clothes, and reminded him it was the 1st of April. But you 
must be prepared for another examination besides that of 
your age. I see clearly, by the encroachments already made, 
what is further threatened. The people's ignorance will be 
strictly inquired into ; and do not natter yourself that you 
will escape the scrutiny. You will be surprised, as you are 
presented by a Government inspector with schedule A, B, or 
C, at the amount of your own ignorance. Old as you are, 
you must expect to be registered into an adult school ; for it 
is the impertinent maxim of Quinbus Flestrin that no man is 
too old to learn. You will be booked in his " Dunciad," 
wise as you thought yourself, and other folks believed you 
to be. Then you have to reflect what a bad man you must 
be ; for nowadays all crimes are in the educational alembic 
resolved into ignorance. Even so, Eusebius, however you 
may raise your venerable eyebrows at the new philosophy, — 
whatever ill is done in the world, is all through ignorance. 
It is a great discovery. It is not the heart, but the head, 
that is in fault. Hitherto it has had the cunning to escape 
by vicarious punishment far off from itself; but the old whipt 
parts are emancipated ; all the known vices are driven to 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 375 

the head, in order that they may be thence at once scienti- 
fically expelled by invisible evaporation under a high educa- 
tional pressure. Thus the fox, when troubled with fleas, 
goes tail foremost into the water, forces his troublesome 
backbiters upwards upon his head and his tongue, then ducks 
down, drowns his enemies, and comes out on dry land, ready 
for any inspectors, with a clean bill of health. And so will 
the people, however bad, be cured (and certificates given) 
by this high-headpressure process. But the process will 
require skill, and therefore none less than Government 
inspectors, together with Quinbus Flestrin, will be allowed 
to operate ; for some experiments have unfortunately proved 
that a head unskilfully managed may become a caput mor- 
tuum, and, in many cases, to use proper scientific phrase,. an 
" exhausted receiver." You cannot conceive the wonders an 
Act of Parliament can do ! — it is already compelling chim- 
neys to consume their own smoke, and it will compel heads 
(which are alone in fault) to consume their own vices. Thus 
will both atmospheres, the moral as well as the air we breathe, 
be purified, and wicked man by this new exhalation and in- 
halation be within the process of conversion into an angel. 
You surely will not unadvisedly call in question the intuitive 
wisdom of our Minister for the Home Department, whose 
business it is to know with extreme accuracy all that relates 
to our home civilisation and capabilities of the people, espe- 
cially when now he has nothing else to do but to cultivate 
peace and our domesticity in the midst of war ; thus sacrific- 
ing his natural propensity, advanced by experience, and from 
a lion abroad becoming a lamb at home, a believer in inno- 
cence, the companion and teacher of children. You will 
not doubt that he has well weighed the matter, seeing with 
what silent loathing he turns away from the sinners his 
colleagues, with what affectionate solicitude towards his sin- 
less protegees. We have been all in the wrong, and badly 



376 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

taught, when we believed that the " heart is deceitful above 
all things," and that it has by nature any wickedness in it. 
The Secretary for the Home Department assures the people 
of England, that, far from being " born in sin," all children 
are born good — that it is by mixing with evil people only 
that they become bad. No one has had greater experience 
of such associates. It is desirable, Eusebius, that he should 
evolve a little more clearly this new philosophy ; for here is 
a dilemma — if all are born good, so must have been those 
from whom the wickedness is learnt. How came they by it ? 
How came it into their heads ? for in course of his argument 
their hearts can have nothing to do with it. And if all are 
thus naturally good, what possible use can there be in all 
this projected education, which professes to make them good ? 
Yet we must remember that good is only a positive good, to 
be converted by the grammar of our day-schools into its 
comparative better, and, under inspector's teaching, into a 
superlative best. 

Take all this, my dear Eusebius, as mere preface or pre- 
lude to the solemnity of the Census, to which I must intro- 
duce you. Tragedy, tragi-comedy, and even broad farce, 
are not brought upon the stage without a prelude ; and you 
will think, perhaps, the Census entitled to one, as in some 
degree partaking of all three. 

But I must enter a short prefatory protest against being 
misunderstood by any to whom you may show this letter, as 
if I were an enemy to the people's education. You know 
me better, Eusebius — far from it ! I wish that every man, 
woman, and child within these realms should be taught read- 
ing, writing, and arithmetic. I wish much more, that every 
man had daily served up to him, by visible or invisible hands, 
with his pot of good ale and his hot steak, the Times news- 
paper, for the very purpose of the reading of which, and 
newspapers in general, the u education of the people " has 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 377 

been so continually forced upon public consideration. But 
being no " contributor " to the Times, I do not want to be a 
contributor for it. Let it go to the Education Committees 
gratis — well and good — I will extend my wishes to that. 
The people's ignorance is welcome to my benevolence that 
way, and I claim no merit upon it, for, as Sydney Smith said, 
it is a common virtue, this benevolence. " A never sees B 
in distress but he wishes C to relieve him." I don't wish to 
be taxed that every man, woman, and child should read the 
Times ; and I mistrust any education-tax, not only for its 
impracticabilities, which are many, but because it is not 
needed. On the contrary, I feel convinced that it would be 
impossible to keep back education. The people of all grades 
are in that state that they will have it. We are not in a 
dead-alive epoch of the human history. The very fact of a 
daily press of consummate ability, and of varied and ever- 
applicable information, has created, and is further creating, a 
necessity for education. The freer circulation of the busi- 
ness of the world, of markets, and of all trades, imposes 
such a necessity. A farmer cannot now count his cattle, as 
Proteus did his sea-calves, by his five fingers. The people, 
left to themselves, will be sure universally to acquire the 
three great elements of learning — reading, writing, and 
arithmetic. They know very well that without these they 
will be as foreigners in their own land who want a language. 
But education, in Busybody sense, means a great deal more 
than that — a portion of certainly useful with a vast quantity 
of very useless knowledge. 

I here for the present entirely separate religious education 
from the schemes (an education the importance of which no 
man ought to doubt), because, however it is put forth as a 
motive, it is not the animus of the mass of promoters, and 
because it really depends, in the first place, upon the basis 
of the elementary learning. Will not elementary learning 



378 CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 

insure every other learning according to capabilities ? They 
who can write and read well have their foot upon the ladder. 
They who can, and whose benefit it is to climb, will, and 
surely vast numbers do climb ; but shall I be met by the 
anathema of inquisitors and inspectors if I assert not only 
the impracticability of some to climb, but that it is best for 
them that they should not? All -wise Providence, the 
universal maker of the machinery of Nature, fits individuals 
for One community : Nature therefore gives out — elaborates 
in the complicated evolutions of her working — more varied 
capacities than even the best philosophers wot of. Society 
is made up of classes — it will never do to have too many in 
one class. Works of different kinds are to be performed, and 
well performed ; therefore, as nature evidently regulates the 
balance of sexes, so does the same nature, economise and 
distribute capacities. Due proportions are born for head- 
work and for hand- work, and these in multiplied gradations. 
This is visible in physical formation. The broad hand and 
broad foot are for their peculiar labour : they hold firmly and 
press down strongly the spade in the earth. With handi- 
craft or manufacture springs up another form, of less strength, 
but more apt agility. And so similar adaptations run through 
all nature — civilisation, in other words, society, is the col- 
lective result. Society wants a certain number gifted with 
high inventive faculties, others to work out their inventions. 
One Newton is enough in an age. Had we many Newtons 
at a time, there would be confusion and comparison in a 
people's mind, and not the one great result. I doubt not 
that there must be a certain number of Master Slenders, very 
many of them for every Newton, and for every — no, for the 
one — Shakespeare who immortalised them. Gravity must 
be lightened by merrymaking ; society must have its mirth, 
or it will be a sad world. We must have tragedy to sober 
down the too abundant comedy of errors of life, and comedy 






CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 379 

to cheer, when the fountains of sorrow have poured out all 
their tears. Be it not said with disrespect to his ermine, 
the buffoon is necessary as the judge ; and that poor rank 
can more easily bear multiplication than the better and 
wiser. The player, whom the census-maker, in a splenetic 
mood, classes with vagabonds, acts his due/part in the drama 
of amalgamated society, as on his own histrionic boards. 
The poor tumbler who uses his head as his heels holds his 
place properly, and may claim for his art a recognition 
among the social virtues. Some are gifted with stronger 
heels than heads, perhaps fewer with heads stronger than 
their heels. Such are the elements of society all the world 
over, coming out, like the stars themselves, in the night of 
the world, to fulfil their several parts, high and low, shining, 
or more obscure, as they are wanted in civilised and un- 
civilised society. I fear wisdom would be unheeded if folly 
did not walk behind and hold up her train. It will be a 
vain attempt for any model schoolmaster, at home or abroad, 
to pare or to dilate the heads of all these pupils for the 
world's school to one measure. You cannot fit the head to 
the cap ; you may fit a cap to a head. Make one for all, 
and it will be large enough to hide many faces. You will 
make but a "fool's cap" of it, as some do; and perhaps they 
are wanted, that there may be a fool's play, and the world 
have its laugh. If this be so, Eusebius, where is the wonder- 
ful education-cap for all scholars? What a conjuror must 
the master-man be who shall profess truly to fit it on. Oh 
for the new professorship ! 

Of necessity how varied must education be. No one 
centralised manufactured scheme can be suited to all ; and 
here is the mistake that is made. The education for a high 
class is thrust upon all classes. Hence the many who do 
not, cannot, and whom nature never intended to come up to 
it, are put down by statisticians as ignorant; while a still 



380 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

more miscalculating sect of a new philosophy, taking ad- 
vantage of this epithet ignorant, make it the apology for 
crime, and deprecate pnnishments. The people of this 
country, Eusebius, the great mass of the people, are not 
ignorant. Few, indeed, are so little informed as the fashion 
is to make the multitude appear to be. 

Great as may have been the progress of education in 
England and Wales from the commencement of the present 
century, and wide as may have been the benefit arising from 
it, surely the Census Keport a little exaggerates the old evil 
to magnify the present good. " The records and the recol- 
lections which describe society so recently as fifty years ago, 
bear testimony to a state of ignorance and immorality so 
dense and general, that if any member of the present genera- 
tion could be suddenly transported to that early period, he 
would probably be scarcely able, notwithstanding many 
abiding landmarks, to believe himself in England, and would 
certainly regard the change which half a century has wit- 
nessed in the manners of the people as but little short of the 
miraculous. Comparison is scarcely possible between the 
groups of gambling, swearing children — no unfavourable 
example of young England, then — whom Kaikes of Gloucester, 
in 1781, with difficulty collected in the first Sunday-school, 
and any single class of the 2,400,000 scholars, who now 
gather with alacrity, and even with affection, round their 
318,000 teachers." Nor is this view either of manners or 
affection quite kept up in the account of the difficulties 
besetting the ragged-school teachers. You will find this 
note p. lxvi. 

" The ordeal through which a ragged-school teacher has 
to pass is occasionally one of no trifling character. Mr 
Locke describes himself as having been sometimes obliged, 
by the attacks of his proteges, to fly from the school, and 
seek the protection of the police." You remember well — 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 381 

for you have often repeated the lines — Goldsmith's description 
of the village school, scholars, and master. Goldsmith painted 
from nature ; there was some good bringing-up at any rate in 
those days. Bat Goldsmith, it will be said, does not describe 
children in the towns, but a country village. True, and that 
village was in Ireland. And that town-population of children, 
an adventitious population, did not then exist as now ; it was 
the creation of the present century. Before that infantine 
aggregation in manufacturing towns, education in England, 
with regard to the class he has introduced into his poem, 
may be supposed to have been not unfairly described. The 
great want of education sprang up with the manufacturing 
system, under which, at an early age, children were removed 
from their parents, artificially brought up, scarcely knowing 
a home, and thus excluded from the ameliorating charities of 
life. And if manners are spoken of, it is not very easy to 
put a philosophic finger upon the cause. For manners 
among the best educated have also changed. Intoxication, 
for instance, how has it departed ; and that which was a 
fashion is now the lowest vulgarity. The improvement is 
not altogether to be ascribed to any great advancement in 
those classes in learning. But if under manners — mores — 
morals are to be included, there is not quite so much reason 
to boast as may be assumed; outward manners may hide 
very bad morals. A great change has also taken place in 
our whole trade-system, so as to alter for the worse the 
character of our trading population. Trade honesty used to 
be the pride of England. Where is it gone? When it is 
acknowledged that every article of trade is almost univer- 
sally adulterated ; that it is a delusion to imagine you can 
obtain anything genuine ; and when it is taken into account 
what a very large proportion of our population are manu- 
facturing traders and shopkeepers, statisticians may have 
reason somewhat to doubt of our moral improvement. See 



382 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

how widely these iniquities extend, and to what degree the 
population must be vitiated. Take the case alluded to in 
my last letter — the adulteration of tea. They who adulterate 
it do it not too privately : every tradesman employs many 
hands — they must be cognisant of the cheat ; they are there- 
fore corrupted ; if they are fathers, they of course corrupt 
their children. In the instance quoted children were em- 
ployed, sent out to strip certain trees of leaves, for the known 
purpose of adulteration. Surely, Eusebius, it is in these 
middle classes of great and petty tradesmen that moral 
education is mostly wanted. While the villanous system of 
fraud is allowed to exist and to progress as it does, it is very 
discouraging to scheme for a people's education in mere 
learning. There is another kind of education going on, 
which makes the proposed learning a dubious good, and 
establishes schools to make sharpers. I cannot find space to 
express adequately the abhorrence, the disgust, and the 
indignation at the sufferance of these iniquities. They are 
spreading and corrupting the whole people. Our criminal 
population is engaging the attention of the Legislature — 
experiments are tried to convert convicted prisoners into 
good citizens by education. But the trade criminals, the 
general adulterators, are not prisoners ; theirs is a game of 
less risk. If they become not prisoners themselves, however, 
they make prisoners, for by so wide an example of dishonesty 
they put a mockery on fair dealing, and infect all below them. 
A wholesome severity upon criminals of this description would 
be the best preliminary step in the education of the people. 

According to the opinion of the Census, what proportion 
of the population should be under tuition ? It is calculated 
that in England and Wales there ought to be at school 
4,908,696 children. And what is the school age ? " Some 
send their children to school as early as from three to four ; 
while others retain them at home till five or six. So some 



CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 383 

remove their children from school at the age of ten or twelve, 
whilst others defer this step till the age of sixteen or seven- 
teen. Nevertheless, sufficient agreement exists to enable us 
to indicate the earliest age at which instruction from home 
in general commences, and the latest age at which it gene- 
rally terminates ; and if we fix upon three as the former 
period, and fifteen as the latter, these, perhaps, will fairly 
represent the two extremes, beyond which scarcely any day- 
scholars, in the ordinary elementary schools, can be reason- 
ably expected to be found. Doubtless some few children 
go to school before three, and some stay later than fifteen." 
The writer laments the extent to which the demand for 
juvenile labour interferes with school instruction. If, how- 
ever, they are to begin at three, I should rather make it a 
subject of lamentation that they have so little time for the 
enjoyment of infantine life. It is frightful to think that 
work, whether at school or in other employment, is to com- 
mence so soon, and to last so long. Children are placed 
out as early as nine in permanent farm situations. It is 
much worse in manufactories. " Children begin to be em- 
ployed in manufactories, in needle-making, in button-making, 
as errand-boys, and in various other capacities, some as 
early as six, others at any time from six to ten." Poor 
children ! How are they sacrificed by thousands. "What is 
the age of a child at Liverpool and Manchester ? We read 
with horror of the poet's fabulous monster, that once in 
many years was to be appeased by the sacrifice of one young 
and beautiful victim. How many must annually die to satisfy 
our trade monster ! 

Here is an extract from a recent Times, — 

" At Liverpool there is a large Irish population, living as they 
do everywhere. At Manchester and Salford, more than two 
hundred children have perished from diarrhoea. ' The reason,' 
says the Begistrar, ' is to be found in the out-door occupation of 



384 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

the mothers, and consequent neglect of the children, and in the 
indifference with which the earlier symptoms of disease in the 
very young are usually regarded.'" 

Much has been said in the Census of "the family" as a 
social institution — of the reform which had taken place with 
regard to it in the reign of George III. "The family" is 
the very root of a people's civilisation, for all virtues begin 
by being home virtues. Has this institution been sufficiently 
considered in connection with our educational views ? I fear 
not. The temptation of early wages, under which parents 
of the lower classes have broken up their homes, and dis- 
persed their young children to the towns, has unquestionably 
damaged this institution of the family. But a farther 
damage has been inflicted by the educational mania. Kind 
and most benevolent have been the motives everywhere at 
work to set up schools ; but has there been an equal dis- 
cretion ? As I said before, I repeat that the lower classes 
of themselves, if left to themselves, in the present day, would 
have their children educated. Have we been wise in so 
largely taking it out of their hands ? You and I can remem- 
ber, Eusebius, when it was an object with the poor to give 
their children a little schooling ; when it was an object, and 
caused frugality and forethought; and forethought of this 
kind greatly promotes family affections. It was a care 
which begat love. There was a sense of a want which the 
parent ought to supply, for the benefit of his child ; and it is 
notorious that the more urgent these wants are, as they 
become the perpetual thought and care, so does affection 
increase. It is the sickly child that, most needing and 
obtaining this continual care and attention, is most loved. 
Now, have not modern educationists too much disregarded 
these social ties, these domestic cares? Have they done 
wisely in relieving parents of their natural cares ? Except- 
ing in cases of notoriously bad and profligate fathers and 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 385 

mothers, I would not have these homes interfered with. It 
is ultimately injurious to remove from them the cares and 
responsibilities which nature has wisely imposed. I have 
always looked with suspicion, especially in country villages, 
upon infant - schools — have seen the working of them, 
their effects upon both parents and children. In both, 
affection is loosened. These schools may be capable of more 
judicious management ; but in general the parents are too 
much relieved from the necessity of thought about their 
children. There are plenty of good people to take the care 
off their hands. These cares are softening cares ; remove 
them, and the heart becomes harder. True is the picture of 
humanity — of 

" Wisdom with her children round her knees." 

It is the picture of parental education — the best, the very 
best, the only best, for the very young. And what did the 
good mother Wisdom teach her children gathered round her 
knees ? She did not send them to the dull sleep of weari- 
ness, with Mrs Barbauld's monotone inanities ; she did not 
disgust them with incomprehensible letter-cards and book- 
pages. She kept them alive, and set their affections active, 
through natural curiosity ; and thus all the young beauty of 
their minds was growing up healthy, together with their 
bodies, under an easy and pleasant exercise. Blessed and 
blessing were the fire-side or sunny door-side words, " Once 
upon a time." Horrible is it to take a child at three years 
of age — the Census age — from this " Once upon a time," 
and the mother's knee, to put it in education's coop, and 
have it crammed, like poultry for the market, as a "hand" 
for a factory. How I have heard you, Eusebius, pity the 
poor children ! I remember your looking at a group of them, 
and reflecting, " For of such is the kingdom of Heaven ; " 

2 B 



386 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and turning away thoughtfully, and saying, " Of such is the 
kingdom of Trade ! " A child of three years of age, with a 
book in its infant hands, is a fearful sight. It is too often 
the death-warrant, such as the condemned stupidly looks 
at — fatal, yet beyond his comprehension. What should a 
child three years old — nay, five, six years old — be taught ? 
Strong meats for weak digestions make not bodily strength. 
Let there be nursery tales and nursery rhymes. I would 
say to every parent, especially every mother, sing to your 
children, tell them pleasant stories ; if in the country, be 
not too careful lest they get a little dirt upon their hands 
and clothes ; earth is very much akin to us all, and, in 
children's out-of-door-play, soils them not inwardly. There 
is in it a kind of consanguity between all creatures : by it 
we touch upon the common sympathy of our first substance, 
and beget a kindness for our " poor relations" the brutes. 
Let children have a free open-air sport ; and fear not though 
they make acquaintance with the pigs, the donkeys, and the 
chickens — they may form worse friendships with wiser-look- 
ing ones : encourage a familiarity with all creatures that 
love to court them — dumb animals love children, and chil- 
dren them. There is a language among them which the 
world's language obliterates in the elder. It is of more 
importance that you should make your children loving than 
that you should make them wise — that is, book-wise. Above 
all things, make them loving ; then will they be gentle and 
obedient ; and then, also, parents, if you become old and 
poor, these will be better than friends that will never neglect 
you. Children brought up lovingly at your knees, will 
never shut their doors upon you, and point where they 
would' have you go. Intellect alone, however cultivated, 
only makes monsters. We hear a great deal of " training- 
schools," Eusebius, as if children were to lead dogs' lives, and 
be trained for the pursuit of Trade's game. There should be 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 387 

some " training-schools," for nurses and mothers, to teach 
them the reverence that is due to children — 

"Maxima debetur pueris reverentia." 

Reverence is a good word ; it means a thorough thoughtful - 
ness and care in all we say and do before them, for all done 
and said before them is their lesson. They are always 
learning, indoors or in open air — they are teaching themselves 
most when they are oftenest reproved as idle, seeking a work 
suitable, and making for themselves experiences. They build 
with mud, they arithmetise with stones, they practise their 
ringers to handicraft, and their curiosity is teaching them a 
thousand things in the best way. It is a pity to stop the 
growth, and drive them into a hot school, where, not the 
mother, but strangers will take them in hand — and the life- 
blood of home, of the "social family," stagnates. You once 
said, Eusebius, that you felt sure Shakespeare meant to read 
a moral lesson to parents in his King Lear. That Cordelia 
had been sung to, and told nursery tales, and played with in 
sunny hours in green gardens ; and that Regan and Goneril 
had been sent to a model school at the earliest age, never 
sang to, knew no nursery rhymes, and had been made wise 
in their generation. All a child sees and hears is a child's 
natural education ; when that education is easy, inartificial, 
the temper is kept sweet, — and that is much. It is a bad 
thing when they honour strangers more than their fathers and 
mothers ; and when they are taught to do that, and are 
packed off to factories, no wonder is it if they soon have not 
the blessing annexed to the family honouring, and that their 
lives are not "long in the land." 

In looking into this Census, I see but two things noticed 
to make up a child's life — book- education and work. You 
may calculate ages, you may count hours — you will find none 
for amusement. If not at school, they are supposed to be 



388 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

sick, or employed elsewhere. When their factory-day work 
is over they are to go to " evening schools :" thus education 
is to them a poison, and not always a slow poison. They 
who escape the first dangers are placed in another hot-bed of 
education, and forced, so that they often make up a fine show 
for the admirers of useless knowledge. I was quite delighted 
when I heard of a benevolent scheme to counteract the bad 
schemes, and to teach "common things." 

Let there not be too much parrot education ; show-children 
are made to appear amazingly clever, and, like the conceited 
birds, proud of their feathers : but they have -not a bit the 
more sense, and are too deficient in the knowledge of the 
common things they ought to know, and parrot work it is. 
There is too often acquired a fine language which is not 
natural to them, and not " understanded " of their fathers 
and mothers. But the "mother tongue" will not be under 
perpetual restraint — " Naturam expellas furca tamen usque 
recurret" — It must be a strong gag that will ever keep on 
nature's mouth. A clergyman told me that he felt a trifling 
gratification, of which it would be considered he ought to be 
ashamed. Leaving a parochial school where both inspector 
and sholars had been flourishing, he went his rounds, and 
came to a cottage where he found a natural language he did 
not expect to hear from a pet scholar. She was saying to 
her mother words unfit for educational report. " Thee wousn't 
if thee cousn't." Well, if that was her mother-tongue, I 
wonder what the amalgamation with other tongues will make 
it at last. It will be a poor education, indeed, that will not, 
and that very soon, setting aside the knowledge of common 
things, insist upon more languages than are yet taught ; for 
educationists are encroaching upon all " languages, peoples, 
and nations" — their tongues will be to be taught as well as 
their histories and geographies. I see Latin and Greek have 
already invaded the Educational Report. Where so much 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 389 

is taught, how little can be really acquired. It is said of 
" Hearsay's" scholars that they learned in a trice, and dis- 
coursed fluently of things prodigious, the hundredth part of 
which would take a man's whole life to have well known. 
What are " common things" but those things which are to 
be done by men and women ? Agesilaus, when asked what 
was best for boys to learn, wisely replied, " What they ought 
to do when they shall be men." 

Socrates disapproved of the universal teaching of geometri- 
cal diagrams, dv<f%uverw diayga/x/xarav, hard to be understood, 
enough to occupy a whole life, and take away the scholar 
" from many matters of useful knowledge." It is better if a 
ploughman knows the measure of his own field than the acre- 
age of Attica, and the strength of his own team than that of 
Hannibal's elephants. Individual businesses and professions 
acquire nothing by leaping over their own walls into the 
knowledge-preserves that belong to other classes. Geometry 
will be of little use to him who is 'prenticed to the pestle 
and mortar. It would be idle to send a tailor's boy to Wool- 
wich to learn gunnery, who is destined " more to be honoured 
in the breech" than in making of breaches. There is, after 
all, some sense in " Ne sutor ultra crepidam." M. Soyer will 
not be so foolish as to examine his cooks in mathematics : 
pies, pattypans, and lollipops are as noble-sounding words for 
the young confectioner's science as parallelopipedons. 

The old sophister's tricks, that were expelled by ridicule, 
are coming round again. Children, whatever their destinies 
are to be, will be taught, like the Laputans, to cut their bread 
into cones, cylinders, and parallelograms. Inspectors not 
learned in "The Clouds" will again be insisting upon the 
measurement of the leap of a flea. There is many a young 
woman who cannot make or mend a gown, and is ignorant of 
a thousand useful domestic items that contribute to home- 
comfort, who is to be asked such questions as I see in the 



390 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

Keport-Educational, tinder heading — " Female Training- 
Schools." " Explain the origin and formation of the follow- 
ing words : First — neither, if, twain, more, manly, which, 
wrong, farthing, Wednesday." " What English words are 
derived from the following — Sto, jungo, Mors, loqnor, dens, 
fluo, mordeo, facio ? " Don't think, Eusebitis, this jingo-lingo 
is any fabrication of mine. Look in the Keport ; you will 
find the cask according to the sample. A list of inspectors' 
educational questionings should be headed, " The art of 
learning everything and knowing nothing ;" or, how young 
ladies and gentlemen of every grade may be taught to con- 
verse or lecture fluently for the greatest length of time and 
yet say nothing — 

" E quella soavissima 
Arte tanto eloquente 
Che sa si lungo spazio, 
Parlar, senza dir niente." 

" That sweetest art to talk all day ; 
Be eloquent — and nothing say." 

Examiners too busily set themselves to inquire what their 
scholars know, not what they think. They get from them 
what is on their tongues, not much that is in their minds. 
Master and scholar stand on non-conductors — electric sym- 
pathy is cut off. They know not each other really, and only 
fancy they do by the false signs of their learning. The 
natural curiosity of the scholar, which would impel him to ask 
and inquire, is driven into a corner, crowded and jostled, and 
in danger of suffocation from the multitude of dead men's 
thoughts : it cannot expand to the wholesome air of inquiry, 
shrinking from the " density and proximity" of the uncongenial 
and oppressive neighbourhood. I should like to see the 
inspector oftener submit to be questioned, that the scholar's 
mind may have a little play. Let him be set thinking ; this 
would be good exercise ; for lack of habit of this kind, when 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 391 

taken out of his routine, out of his knowledge-harness, the 
scholar is apt to be staggered, and can't go a step. But I 
heard the other day on an inspector's examination of a union 
of schools, how unexpectedly a boy raised a laugh against 
his inspector. This examiner had ventured to ask the school 
for their thoughts, but in the mass they wanted practice, and 
had none to show. He had been — doubtless very properly, 
and I dare say with acute good-sense — descanting on the 
wisdom and benevolence shown in the structure of our organs : 
the eye was the subject, and he most likely took the hint 
from the admirable dialogue Socrates held with Aristodemus 
the atheist. Be that as it may, however, he at last asked his 
scholars what they thought upon the matter — had they any 
remarks to make — did anything strike them ? No, nothing — 
they were dumb. Still the question was repeated, had they 
observed nothing extraordinary in the eye ? Then at last 
one boy, who had just had a thump in the back from a moni- 
tor for inattention, said, " I have a thought." " What is it ? " 
said the inspector. " Why," said the scholar, " I am thinking 
that since, as you say, it is so good that our two eyes be 
placed in front, that if we had another pair at the back of 
our heads, we should see who comes a'ter us." " This pal- 
pable hit" touched every boy's practical experience. The 
laugh could not be put down. The inspector's attempt to 
turn it against the young Four-eyes (a name he has acquired) 
failed. It was to little purpose he reminded the scholar, 
that, in such a case, he could not defend himself without 
turning round, his arms being placed as they are ; for the 
boy's inference was, that four arms would be better than two. 
The inspector was fairly beaten, and relinquished a scheme 
he had proposed of lecturing on the ear and other organs. 
Notwithstanding which you will take it for granted, Eusebius, 
that the generous inspector joined in the general laugh. 
There was a double lesson learnt that day ; master and 



392 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 






scholar learnt something original. That boy should be 
encouraged. He is an incipient inspector. 

A sympathy between masters and scholars is much wanted ; 
it is the very soul of teaching well — a certain bond that those 
under instruction should have a share in it. There is some- 
thing of this in the Bell and Lancaster system ; but it had 
before then been carried into practice in our public schools. 
Their great advantage over private schools was, that much 
of the discipline, as well as some of the knowledge-teaching, 
was left to the youths themselves. Their responsibilities 
gave them thought, self-reliance, and drew out into action, 
preparatory for the larger world, their characters. The order 
of the school was far better than as if a master had done it 
all. Every one must remember the story of little Cyrus 
made a judge among his playfellows. To make, in a great 
measure, the scholar the school's regulator, is an educational 
maxim not sufficiently understood, Scholars, like men in a 
free state, love the order they themselves set up, readily 
obey laws which themselves impose. They thus learn 
at once two things which most in after life are called upon 
in some degree or other to do — to command and to obey. 
Are you acquainted, Eusebius, with the little history of a 
very great thing — the setting up and continuance of Price's 
Candle Company's Educational Establishment ? If you are 
not, get, if you can procure, their Eeports, or read an account 
of it in the Quarterly Review for April 1852. It is the work 
of one man. He has done more to show how to set about 
the education of the people than a century of legislative 
enactments could effect, and put upon a thousand blue-books. 
Blessed, indeed, has been the work of that man — Mr Wilson, 
the manager. His maxim has been from the beginning, 
Oversight, not interference ; so did he wondrously influence 
both adults and children. The narrative is most touching. 
Oh, if such philanthropy were but catching ! I will not 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 393 

give you a single quotation ; for if you know not this little 
history, you must. You will love it to your heart's core, and 
the originator as a prime man in England, which you will 
love more for having him. 

The beauty of such systems of education as Mr Wilson's 
is, that its tendency is to restore, to a better than its original 
state, that one good of feudality, too much of which it is the 
tendency of democracy to destroy — the family institution — 
the mutual dependence — the virtue there was in later clan- 
ship — mutual relationship and dependence without a shadow 
of absolutism. It is the family institution which civilises. 
Civilisation has been my theme throughout. 

There was something civilising and educationising, too, in 
those old sports of ours, wherein all joined. They have 
been too much discouraged ; the bringing people together 
into one enjoyment is a beautiful thing ; and I cannot but 
think that Puritanism has done some damage to this " insti- 
tution of the family," by making man's own individual state 
too much his sole concern. There is a selfishness begat in 
the indulgence of the notion of a solitary passage upwards. 
I cannot think the angels receive so pleasantly him that 
would come alone. But I must not leave Census to indulge 
in imaginations. Census, I cannot say, 

" Cynthius aurem 
Vellit et admonuit." 

— " Census, not Cynthius, twitched me by the ear." 

There is ground upon which even iron-shod honesty must 
tread lightly, perhaps hesitatingly ; but it is not for Honesty 
to draw back the foot after the first movement to its position. 
Honesty has made her stand — I venture to be her interpreter. 
Sunday schools, are they indubitably good ? — are all good ? 
They are so general that it needs a bold face to ask questions. 
I put the case thus : If there be day-schools ; where they 



394 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

are, may not Sunday be allowed to be in reality what in 
name it is said to be, a day of rest ? I know some very 
excellent persons do entertain donbts if it should be in any 
way a day of toil : head-work is work. I should prefer the 
old practice, happily reviving, of catechising in church, 
where the clergyman, not the scholar, may make his applica- 
tions, and take occasion so to do from the services of the day ; 
and after the service let the poor children, at least for one 
day in the week, have a home and enjoy it. On this day let 
them "do no manner of work." Harmless recreation is not 
work ; and I am sorry to say I have known some ascetic 
preachers denounce as sinful a walk for pleasure in the fields 
on the Lord's Day. You will say these remarks relate only 
to the Church of England. Be it so. Census is compelled 
to give the Church of England people the largest area. But 
if I take into contemplation other Sunday, or, as they are 
usually called, " Sabbath schools," I have an awful remem- 
brance of what is said of them by their own teachers, and 
which you will find at large in the Temperance Societies' 
tracts. Although I utterly disbelieve what is there asserted, 
that they make drunkards (for so small a thing as small 
beer with tee-totallers entitles the partaker to the name), 
yet enough is shown of a teaching of a veiy intoxicating 
quality, in striking contrast to the humility-teaching of the 
Church of England. You will find some account of the 
matter in " Temperance and Teetotal Societies." I said that 
if the people were left more to themselves, they would still 
seek education for their children ; on that account, the small 
contribution from the parents is a wise provision ; but the 
desire may be somewhat weakened by the existence of Sun- 
day schools where there is much teaching. Parents may 
think that sufficient. 

"It is not for the sake of saving a penny per week," says 
the Census, " that the child is transferred from the school to 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 395 

the factory or the fields, but for the sake of gaining a shilling 
or eighteenpence per week." This may be true in towns, 
and in some country districts, but in others wages are so low 
that even a penny for each child may be a consideration. 
They who employ labourers ought to take it to their shame 
if they do not mend this. It is, however, of great importance 
for the preservation of the " Family Institution," that the 
care and forethought should begin with the parent, however 
poor. I fear every proffered or promised good, if it relieves 
the parent from his responsibilities. 

" The schools for children who have not attained that age 
(the sixth year) are mostly infant schools in character, if not 
by name. It seems to be admitted pretty generally amongst 
educationists, that unless a good proportion of the schooling 
which a child receives be given above the age of six, its 
value is considerably diminished, and cannot be looked upon 
as adequate. Upon this theory the facts above produced 
appear to indicate a state of education far from satisfactory ; 
since the average length of schooling received by children of 
all classes between six and fifteen cannot exceed four years, 
and the average for children of the working classes cannot 
much exceed three years. So that, while upon an average 
the children of the labouring classes may perhaps, if all are 
under education, have 4J years of schooling, a very consider- 
able part of their instruction is imparted during what may be 
described as the "infant period." 

I may not agree with Census as to the number of years 
which should be devoted to education — of course meaning 
book-learning ; but that a child should not begin too soon, I 
am quite convinced by the arguments of an able and philan- 
thropic American physician, Amariah Brigham, M.D., whose 
little treatise on education I directed your notice to in a 
letter which you transferred to Maga so long ago as June 
1837. He speaks deprecatingly of disease produced by too 



396 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 



early education, asserting that disorders which are supposed 
to originate in the stomach, very many of them are diseases 
of the brain, of which the stomach is sympathetic. I inserted 
in that letter, in a note, the following, to which I again call 
your attention. It will bear a general circulation, and you 
will distribute it. 

" I have copied from this treatise a table taken from a late 
work of M. Friedlander, dedicated to M. Guizot. It must be 
remembered that education has much engaged the attention 
of the most learned and distinguished men. ' From the 
highest antiquity we have this rule,' says M. Friedlander, 
' that mental instruction ought not to commence before the 
seventh year.' He gives the following table of rest and 
labour : — 



Age. 


Hours of Sleep. 


Hours of 
Exercise. 


Hours of 
Occupation. 


Hours of 
Repose. 


7 


9 to 10 


10 


1 


4 


8 


9 


9 


2 


4 


9 


9 


8 


3 


4 


10 


8 to 9 


8 


4 


4 


11 


8 


7 


5 


4 


12 


8 


6 


6 


4 


13 


8 


5 


7 


4 


14 


7 


5 


8 


4 


1 15 


7 


4 


9 


4 

1 






By this table it would appear that the early stage of life 
(seven) is only able to receive one hour of occupation, and 
that the more advanced, though still young (fifteen), of nine 
times as nmch. You will observe, also, that repose, which I 
presume to mean recreation, is taken into consideration, of 
which I do not remember that much, if anything, is said in 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 397 

the Census. But if children are sent to factories at six 
years of age, and are subject to factory-labour and to educa- 
tion, their time for repose or recreation must be very short ; 
and who can wonder if the tables of mortality confirm the 
view taken by Dr Brigham ? But is four years' schooling, or 
4§, so very short a period for the general population of chil- 
dren ? Under good masters, much reading, writing, and 
arithmetic may be acquired in that time — at least enough to 
make adult education for those who, when grown up, desire 
it, sufficiently easy. The irksomeness of the task has been 
got over. I say good masters — for there still exist some of 
the old parish-appointed semi-endowed schools, where the 
ability of the master is but little considered. One instance 
I know where the appointment was made purely to save 
parochial relief. Another case I present you with, Eusebius. 

You are acquainted with the curate of L . He told me 

the other day, that, visiting' the parish school, he looked over 
the master's writing. He found the spelling infamous ; he 
pointed out the errors. The master, nothing abashed, gave 
the ingenious excuse that it was " getting dusk when he 
wrote it." If a scholar had given this excuse to a master 
who could spell even in the dark, he would have been taught 
that there was something more in fault than his eyes. Mas- 
ters of a very different calibre come from training-schools 
nowadays, and happily — though I know your admiration of 
Goldsmith's schoolmaster in the Deserted Village will make 
you still protest against the innovation, and to think such as 
he was a model master for the great mass of scholars. In- 
dulge your amiable weakness, Eusebius — you may think so 
without doing harm to a single school; for though you search 
the world "from China to Peru," where will you find him? 
Make up your innocent mind to it — you "ne'er will look upon 
his like again." 

It is an old saying, " Two of a trade can never agree." 



398 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

The trade of education is no exception. Two gentlemen 
having heard a great deal of the progress of education, set 
out upon their travel of inquiry. These gentlemen are Mr 
Kay, brother to Sir P. Kay Shuttle worth, who took so promi- 
nent a part as Secretary to the Privy Council Committee of 
Education; and Mr Laing, author of Notes of a Traveller. 
They went on the same errand. Did they both see alike 
the nakedness of the land or its fertility? Alas for the 
spectacles of the learned spies ! One brings back monster 
grapes luxuriously tempting, the other's grapes are withered 
and sour. What is Kay's account of this " laud of promise ?" 
— no, rather land of present perfection — the paradise of 
knowledge ? I take his report as told in the Critic. "There 
are no dirty ragged children, no ignorant young men or 
women, no drunkenness, no bad manners, no gross poverty 
or suffering. Everybody is comfortable and happy, well 
educated and polite ; and there is no mention of vice or im- 
morality. As for the schoolmasters, they are all gentlemen, 
without ceasing to be peasants." I told you, Eusebius, the 
tailor, the farmer, and the dustman would be rival candidates 
for a professor's chair, — you see it has been realised — abroad ! 
But more yet. These peasant teachers are as good in 
manners and education as Oxford or Cambridge graduates. 
Euskin must sink his graduateship — he is beaten out of the 
field — for they can do what he cannot, or never, that I know 
of, professed to do, which is generally the same thing as 
doing it — "they can fiddle." Now, don't cry nonsense, — 
read. " They are not above their place (none of these are my 
italics) and duties as humble village-teachers, although their 
education and manners would not disgrace the graduate of 
Cambridge and Oxford. Indeed, every man of them can 
fiddle." They can also " play both the piano and organ, 
which is more than can be said of one in a thousand of our 
English graduates. They can also prune trees, and do many 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 399 

other useful jobs which our B. A's. would make rather poor 
hands at." So much for the schoolmasters of Prussia, Hol- 
land, Switzerland, Bavaria, Saxony, &c. You see, Eusebius, it 
is the fiddle that has done it. "Fiddler's land" is the only 
land for a man to live in after all. That is the land of civilisa- 
tion. Alas for my emblem of civilisation, the Chinese lady! — 
there is no fiddle in the picture . Henceforth, translate the Latin , 

" Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes 
Emollit mores nee sinit esse feros," 

as it ought to be translated. " To play upon the fiddle is 
the consummation of education, and the recipe to make a 
peasant, a schoolmaster, and a gentleman." Don't laugh, 
Eusebius — I am sure you are going to laugh ; so just take a 
look at the sour grapes. Mr Laing is holding them up, and 
is going to speak. Listen. At first you will find him a little 
under the fascination of the Kay-bugle echoing the last faint 
note of praise. " The educational system of Prussia is no 
doubt admirable as a maohinery ; but the same end is to be 
attained in a more natural and effective way — by raising the 
moral condition of the parents to free agency in their duties ; 
or if not, if education — that is, reading, writing, and arith- 
metic — cannot be brought within the acquirements of the 
common man's children but upon the Prussian semi-coercive 
principle of the State, through its functionaries, intruding 
upon the parental duties of each individual, stepping in 
between the father and his family, and enforcing, by State 
regulations, fines, and even imprisonment, what should be 
left to the moral sense of duty and natural affection of every 
parent who is not in a state of pupilage from mental imbeci- 
lity, — then is such education not worth the demoralising 
price paid for it," &c. &c. 

Oh, oh ! is it so ? — the Kay-bugle is now sadly out of 
tune. " The admirable machinery" then turns out to be the 



400 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

collar round the dog's neck, which the free dog in the fable 
asked him how he came by, and politely wished him good 
morning. To be forced to learn, under penalty, fine, and 
imprisonment — perhaps old and young under educationary 
compulsion — a pretty to-do this, indeed. Good morning, 
and good evening too, to all such Government education as 
this. Should you and I escape ? I can imagine some im- 
pertinent inspector, having crammed the children, in the 
spite of weariness, to put some of us old people out to show 
our grammatical paces : the very children would be taught 
to convert their old song into one of a hoot and contempt 
after us — or you at all events. 

Old Father Long-legs couldn't say his grammar ; 
Put him to the treadmill — put him to the treadmill — 
Put him to the treadmill, and then to the crammer. 

But there are discrepancies in the accounts more serious. 
" No drunkenness — no bad manners — no poverty or suffer- 
ing." The " facts " man says : " In Germany, within half 
a mile of the University of Bonn, on a Sunday evening, when 
all the town was abroad walking, I have seen a student in 
tolerably good clothes, his tobacco-pipe in his mouth, begging 
with his hat off on the public road, running after passengers 
and carriages, soliciting charity, and looking very sulky 
when refused ; and the young man in full health, and with 
clothes on his back that would sell for enough to keep him 
for a week. This is no uncommon occurrence on the Ger- 
man roads. Every traveller on the roads round Heidelberg, 
Bonn, and the other university towns in Germany, must 
have frequently and daily witnessed this debasement of mind 
amongst the youth. This want of sensibility to shame or 
public opinion, or to personal moral dignity, is a defect of 
character produced entirely by the system of government 
interference in all education, and in all human action. It is 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 401 

an example of its moral working on society." Of course, it 
must be so. What else can they do than become beggars — 
the unsuccessful competitors for professors' chairs — these 
tailors, hedgers, and dustmen — all now gentlemen-teachers 
without paying scholars, and with little liking to their 
abandoned employments. But the coercion — the collar round 
the man-dog's neck ! We must watch our educationists, 
before Parliament is filled with members crazy upon natural 
philosophy. 

It must be a happy thing that these peasant gentlemen- 
teachers are able to play upon the fiddle, and in that respect 
are superior to our Bachelors of Arts at Cambridge and 
Oxford. The Lydians invented games to stay the outcries 
of the fiddle-strings of their stomachs in a time of famine. 
The addition of music must be very soothing. Music, I 
find, is to be one of the accomplishments proposed for general 
education. It is better than most. But what is to be done by 
the fiddlers when less agreeable work is standing still for 
them ? I will tell you an anecdote thereupon. When I was 
young, I was in the habit of visiting the kindest, most bene- 
volent old lady in the world — very old in years, but a child 
in tenderness and goodness. We were rather a large com- 
pany in the old country-house. Well — one evening, the tea 
not coming at the usual hour, we rang the bell. It was not 
answered. I should tell you the butler always brought in 
the urn, and the footman the tea-tray. Eang again. Bell 
not answered ; but to our amazement we heard Benjamin's 
(the footman's) fiddle going all the while. We rang again ; 
fiddle symphonising. After repeated ringings, in burst Ben- 
jamin, actually crying with vexation at being interrupted, 
saying, both indignantly and piteously, " I should like to 
know how I be to bring the tea by myself. Ain't Thomas 
(the butler) gone to town to post ? " 

I am thinking, Eusebius, of our Benjamins and Thomases, 
2 c 



402 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and Bettys, and Susans, who usually attend to family arrange- 
ment. When we ring for Benjamin, and education is per- 
fected, will he not think he has a prior right to fiddle ? Will 
Betty remonstrate that she could not come before, and ought 
not to have been disturbed, for she was solving a problem ? 
Is it to be an excuse for Thomas's neglect, that he was, at 
the moment when wanted, "Thomas the Khymer?" The 
amiable educationist Dr Daubeny, in his lecture, says that 
chemistry is to teach " patience and tenacity of purpose." I 
fear the patience must be taught to one party, and the tenacity 
of purpose to another. The latter goes to the musical Ben- 
jamins, the former to their masters and mistresses. Not but 
that the gentlemen peasant-teachers must have hard work to 
keep up their patience, and their tempers sweet as that of the 
" gentleman pagan," in his uncivilised island, so praised by 
Drake's biographer. It has been shown that one of the 
praiseworthy teachers in a ragged school was obliged to call 
in the police. One of the old school of masters said strongly, 
that he would have changed places with Job, and thanked 
him too. It will be hard work for some of them, if, when the 
government system of coercion is established, the master 
shall be made responsible for scholars' deficiencies, and master 
and scholar be fined together. It must be a wonderful pump 
that will pump sense either in or out of a pumpkin. But let 
the masters think of it ; we are becoming a very jealous 
people — exacting full work for however little pay, and will 
admit of no shams. 

Now, while all this is going on, are we quite sure of the 
moral teaching ? After all, that is the great thing. Many 
educationists think a great deal about this, and do a great 
deal, and do good ; and think not for a moment, Eusebius, 
that I appreciate not their labours. But there are too many 
who believe that the mere acquiring of knowledge will work 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 403 

more wonders than it can ever accomplish. Many years ago, 
in every court of justice, pains were taken to ascertain if the 
culprits could read and write ; and note was taken (and much 
fuss made about ignorance in these matters) of those who 
could not. Somehow or other these inquiries, or the talk 
about them, seem suddenly to have stopped. A little learn- 
ing, and especially more than a little, may make very accom- 
plished sharpers, as well as virtuous citizens. It is a great 
mistake, indeed, to take cleverness for goodness, and to 
imagine that the cultivating the intellect up to the clever 
point has overmuch to do with morality. There was some- 
thing notable in the answer of the celebrated master, of one 
of our greatest schools : when recommended to take a sharp 
boy, he replied, " I will have none of him — send me a good 
boy. If I want a sharp one, I should go to Newgate." I 
fear, Eusebius, a system that shall make more sharp boys 
than good boys. Better it were that men were made after 
Paracelsus' fashion, of equivocal generation (of w T hich he says, 
" immo autem possibile est"), for men made according to 
Paracelsus' recipe " need learn nothing ; for that, as they are 
made by art, they know everything — an advantage which the 
naturally born never enjoy." True, indeed, the "knowing 
everything" may be the aim of dreamers, but the privilege 
of none of woman born. Nature never meant the many to be 
too knowing. The ear, small as it is, is a funnel too large 
for narrow minds ; so that much going in stagnates, and 
evaporates outwardly, lacking a ready passage of recep- 
tion. And it is as well, for a great part had better go no 
further. 

" You have learnt enough of the wrong sort, you rogue." 

And how from books it is added — 



404 CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 

" AvriffT^otpiv crov rov (hiov rot. fiiQXia,"* 
u The reading of books has corrupted your life." 

The Greeks put the knowledge of " common things" even 
before the learning the letters. They marked him as grossly 
ignorant, first, who hadn't learnt to swim, then hadn't learnt 
his letters, " M'/jrg vsTv (l^-i yeafauara sviff-arag.'" The old 
Persian educational principle, at least in one particular, 
might advantageously be engrafted into the system of some 
adult schools. 

" To ride, shoot with the bow, and to speak truth." 

I would have left out the second were it not guarded by 
the third accomplishment ; it is not, therefore, " shooting 
with the long bow." And this reminds me, Eusebius, of 
what is said of the Turks, that they are given to truth and 
honesty. For all we are doing for them, would it not be 
worth while to beg to have a few trade missionaries sent 
from them to us ? Which is easiest to make, a rogue or an 
honest man ? 

To return to this notion of Gulliver Census, of the marvel- 
lous change for the better in the people's manners and morals, 
I for one will not be gulled by it, and laugh at the gullibility 
of the recipients of this tale of his. I am utterly incredulous ; 
and I call you to witness, Eusebius, as being equally privi- 
leged as myself to be a " laudator temporis acti," if there is 
not as much gross villany — nay, more general dishonesty — 
in this little world of ours, or, to magnify it, call it " Great 
Britain," now than in former days. Take a better authority, — 

" One of the greatest curses and disgraces is the fact that our 
country swarms with ruffians, the outlaws and enemies of society, 
who spread terror wherever they appear ; who, though they con- 
stantly elude detection, are yet known to live by crime." 

* Theognotus Comicus. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 405 

Again — 

" For the question is forced upon us, and no ingenuity, no 
indolence, no pusillanimity, can now evade or postpone it. 
Not only does the number of our criminals contrast strangely 
with our high pretensions as a civilised and virtuous people ; 
not only does crime multiply under our eyes, in spite of our vast 
means of prevention and penal repression," &c* 

I must also take an extract from the same Keview, a part 
of a charge of the Eecorder of Birmingham to the grand jury, 
1850-51 :— 

" We often read of attacks in streets and other frequented 
thoroughfares by ruffians, who seem to have taken as their model 
the Indian Thug ; and their feats prove them as dexterous as 
their master, while in audacity they leave him far behind. Such 
outrages as these, gentlemen, are not the acts of tyros in villany. 
They imply the skill, the contempt of danger, and the indifference 
to the sufferings of their victims, which training, and training 
alone, can give." 

Notwithstanding, however, his praise of the change of 
manners, our statistician of the Census elsewhere says, — 

" Neither does the table include a class, unfortunately too con- 
siderable, whose chief or only means of living are the depredations 
they can make upon society ; and yet the frauds and thefts of the 
criminal population are in many cases as much their ordinary and 
settled ' occupations] as the duties of the factory or the farm are 
the ' occupations ' of the operative or agricultural labourer." 

Thus it appears that we, as a people, so jealous of our 
liberties as not to allow a regular standing army to any 
decently protective amount, endure an irregular standing 
army of 100,000, and probably more, daily and nightly to 
make inroads upon our liberties — nay, our properties and our 
lives. 

" The total number of offenders sentenced to imprisonment (at 
assizes and by summary conviction) is about 100,000 annually, 

* Edinburgh Review, " Criminal Population," 1854. 



406 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and the average term of their imprisonment is about six weeks. 
Hence the number liberated from prison, usually to recommence 
a criminal career, may be easily estimated. In the year 1848, of 
104,485 offenders imprisoned, 86,318 were imprisoned under three 
months, and 18,167 above three months. Of these, only 2585 
were sentenced for a year and upwards."* 

This awful number of criminals, doubtless far short of the 
truth — for there is no calculation of the many who escape, 
and no note taken of the equally criminal fraudulent adulte- 
rators of goods of all kinds, who bring disgrace upon the 
name of trade — shows that there is something very wrong in 
the moral training of the people. May it not be a question, 
if we have not given more importance to the acquirement of 
knowledge in arts, sciences, and book-learning, than to a 
sound moral and religious education — to that education which 
teaches contentment ? The writer of the Census Report com- 
plains of the working classes "having for some generations 
past been tutored not to look beyond their station. 11 There is 
no fear of any lack of proper ambition where adaptive abili- 
ties show themselves ; but it is strange to hear that sound 
teaching impugned. But where, it may be asked, is this 
tutoring, so objected to, to be found ? Where — but in the 
very best educational page that ever was published — the very 
best, not for knowledge, but for moral training ? It is the 
too frequent rejection of this admirable, beautiful, simple, easy 
page of education, that should be the subject of lamentation. 
It is the rejection of the most precious portion of the Church 
of England's authorised training — the Church Catechism. It 
is there, indeed, this wholesome maxim of content, which so 
offends the statistician, is to be found : it is that which has 
been universally inculcated most happily in "generations past." 
It is so admirable, it cannot be repeated too often. In the duty 
to one's neighbour is implied one's duty to oneself. " My 

* Edinburgh Review, October 1854. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 407 

duty towards my neighbour is to love him as myself, and to 
do to all men as I would they should do unto me : to love, 
honour, and succour my father and mother ; to honour and 
obey the King (Queen), and all that are put in authority 
under him (her) ; to submit myself to all my governors, 
teachers, spiritual pastors, and masters ; to order myself 
lowly and reverently to all my betters : to hurt nobody by 
word nor deed ; to be true and just in all my dealings ; to 
bear no malice nor hatred in my heart ; to keep my hands 
from picking and stealing, and my tongue from evil- speaking, 
lying, and slandering ; to keep my body in temperance, 
soberness, and chastity ; not to covet nor desire other men's 
goods, but to learn and labour truly to get mine own living, 
and to do my duty in that state of life unto which it shall 
please God to call me." There is no universal " vaulting 
ambition " inculcated here, no envy of stations above, no 
antic upward leapings of discontent. The aids afforded to 
what, in spite of the statistician's lamentation, I would still 
call this souring vice, are so many in the industriously cir- 
culated " literature of the poor," of which there is in one of 
the Quarterlies a frightful account, that it almost makes one 
doubt even the elementary learning, unless the humbler 
classes can be protected from an atrociously licentious or 
irreligious literature. Moral and religious training is of the 
first importance ; other knowledge will take care of itself, 
and be more duly sought after for its own sake when the 
other and better discipline has taken root. I am happy to 
say that training-schools of the best character are settling 
themselves in the land. The Church of England is doing 
her duty. It is the merely secular education which is to be 
feared — the false importance which is ascribed to mere secu- 
lar knowledge ; as if the lock of. truth had never been hamp- 
ered with the false key of knowledge. Have all the knowing 
men in the world been good men, or wise men ? The arro - 



408 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

gance and pride of learning have ever been notorious. The 
varieties of discordances, falsities, subtleties, ingenuities, 
discrepancies — the very madnesses, the puerilities of the 
learned, prove that studies take leaps beyond reason's fence, 
and there, as by a fatal recompense, they find themselves in 
controversy's land of labyrinths, from which there is no 
escape, no getting back again into common-sense ground. 
If learning with its millions of volumes could make men of 
one mind, it would be something. But the great business 
of learning seems to be to set men by the ears, and make 
them contradict each other. If any science could be secure, 
you would say it is mathematics, which Plato styles the 
road to instruction, xara waideiav odov. Yet Hobbes wrote 
against the pride of geometricians, affirming that Euclid is 
full of errors. Take a whole university of scholars dis- 
missed upon the world's stage to speak and to act. They 
who had learned at the same desk, had gathered of the same 
tree of knowledge, what are they but opponents to each other 
— disputants upon the very principles of all things concern- 
ing religion and politics, moral sentiments, and even the very 
sciences called exact ? The most knowing become makers 
of crotchets, wherewith, when they have forced themselves 
into " commissions," they pelt the whole people. 

There is not a commission set up that does not justly 
cause a jealousy — a suspicion of the setting up a whim to 
overrule common sense. Even in the consultations about 
this very thing (education), what disagreements are there, 
not only as to religion or no religion, but as to the materials 
of which the forced-meat balls wherewith the people shall be 
crammed shall be made ? This one is for thrusting the 
classical languages into our vernacular, for feeding the infan- 
tine population on Greek roots till they can stammer out the 
compounds and derivations ; another strenuously opposes this, 
and is for cutting out (eliminating) the tongue of Pericles. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 409 

Poor young England, stuffed and crammed, his eyes start- 
ing out of' his head, and in perpetual danger of intellectual 
apoplexy ! 

It may be all very well for the very extraordinarily gifted, 
who can walk across the common of Ignorance into know- 
ledge Paradise with the march-of-intellect pace; all able, like 
the Prussian students admired by Mr Kay, to turn their hands 
to any odd "jobs ; " but the dull — the destined to act quite 
another part in life — they will become fatuous under this 
high brain-pressure. They will be left behind, and piteously 
resemble the geese on the common, with their heads in the 
rank grass, only raised to hiss at a stranger — slow goers and 
quick gabblers. Besides, Eusebius, I fear in modern, over- 
strained education, the dead- weight of " facts " will over- 
whelm incipient imaginations. Facts cannot civilise ; but 
imagination, which sets all the generous feelings of the 
young into motion, and which commences its work at the 
mother's knee, is the first humaniser. Heroism of the best 
kind has grown out of children's old tales, such as, in the 
earliest stage, Jack the Giant-Killer and the Seven Champions 
of Christendom. I can believe that those fabulous heroes 
have been fighting our glorious battles ; — I entertain a tem- 
porary Pythagorean creed. Cinderella and the Damsels res- 
cued by the Champions have tamed many a young savage. 
The boy who, in his dreams, has never fought a giant, nor 
saved a lovely maiden from a dragon, never will make a true 
man. The well-developed man has borrowed from the ten- 
derness of a motherly-instructed childhood. The chivalric 
spirit is the worker-out of civilisation. Let facts sink into 
the earth, or die upon its surface like rotten leaves, if they 
are to be accumulated and forced into young minds, to the 
exclusion of generous fictions, that, promoting love and val- 
our, become by them noble truths. No, Eusebius. " Once 
upon a time," at a mother's knee, and afterwards under the 



410 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

flickering light and shade of a secret place in a greenwood, 
is the real talisman, the " Open Sesame " by which excellent 
virtues "enter young minds ; — the rock of the heart opens to 
the words. Let not facts smother the age of heroism. That 
great civiliser is not yet gone, but it is threatened. Have I 
the garrulity of age ? You will call me to facts, for you will 
send me back to Census. It is no great matter if I have de- 
serted him a little while — or a long while ; you will receive 
it as one or the other, as you are pleased or not, and agree 
with me or differ. But I am not afraid that you will differ. 
I have turned over the pages of this great Gulliver again, 
and find so many points of this subject of education left un- 
touched, that were I now to enter upon them, I should 
weary you with too long a letter. There are questions of 
scientific institutions and religious difficulties, which I have 
purposely omitted, as requiring separate consideration. Edu- 
cation will necessarily be a portion of the subject of reli- 
gion. You will therefore probably hear from me shortly 
again. 

In the meanwhile, Eusebius, let the agreeable intelligence 
which statisticians have prepared for you pass through that 
funnel to your understanding, your ear, without resistance. 
Show no impatience when they tell you how very ignorant 
you are — how much you have to learn — and how very short 
a time to learn it in. There are multitudes of things, facts, 
which you must yet know — and religions very gravely put 
before you, and indulgently left to your choice, no undue 
preference being given. For the benefit of your studies, 
know that, to say nothing of books, there are three thousand 
and sixty-four languages, including the Chinese and Hunga- 
rian, and that other odd one with which your education is to 
commence ; that there are a thousand different religions, 
although not all as yet enumerated among Census's Churches, 
which it will be required of you to inquire into ; and that 



CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 411 

you may not despair of the accomplishment of all this, your 
work, know what time is before you. Malicious Census has 
calculated your life to a nicety, and is now, I daresay, pen- 
ning his fiat for you to be posted in the " Dead-letter Office." 
Know then by these presents, as life and death's statisticians 
would say, that ninety-one thousand eight hundred and 
twenty-four people die every day — three thousand seven 
hundred and thirty every hour — sixty every minute — one 
every second. 

Are these the slanders of a " satirical rogue?" Alas, no ! 
True it is, " old men have grey beards " and worse mala- 
dies, yet you may be of Hamlet's opinion : " All which, sir, 
though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it 
not honesty to have it thus set down ; for yourself, sir, shall 
be as old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward." 
It has been said, ' f every man believes every man mortal 
but himself. " That belief is every man's instinct ; and 
as he sometimes means to sojourn in pleasant places, and 
thinks mirth no sin, he does not see the necessity of taking 
as his companion a disagreeable monitor. Acting upon this 
principle, Eusebius, and not liking to be the slave of a thing 
I carry in my pocket, and tremble at the holding up of its 
fingers, with an intimation to be off as the fated one, I have 
taken the precaution to remove the seconds hand from my 
watch. In spite of Census, Eusebius, live cheerfully. 

Vive Valeque. 



CIVILISATION.-THE CENSUS. 

[MARCH 1855.] 

I think it has been made out, Eusebius, at least inferentially, 
tbat civilisation is a condition of social health ; that its 
opposite is a degraded state of disease. And may we not 
add that this disease is epidemic and contagious ? Bar- 
barism begets barbarism, till it ends in savagery, cannibal- 
ism, and annihilation of a race. I suppose the Canaanites 
were, before the curse came upon them, a civilised people. 
Their degeneration brought on them their punishment. How 
ignorantly we hear people talk of savages as in a state of 
nature. It is not true ; history denies it, sacred and profane. 
Races of mankind pass from the higher to the lower state. 
Seldom, indeed, have they been known, when they have 
reached the lowest state, to revive ; perhaps never of them- 
selves, but by being mixed, blended, and, as it were, lost in 
amalgamation with a better stock. 

Can we for a moment think that man came fresh from his. 
Maker's hand a savage ? What he was, the most civilised 
among us is possibly too much deteriorated in intellectual 
and moral perception to conceive. Whence, then, come these 
" children of nature," so strangely called, but from vices 
propagating vices, — 



mox daturos 



Progeniem vitiosiorem ? 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 413 

I do not see how this former civilisation of mankind can be 
denied. Take it for granted, Eusebius, and it follows as the 
head and front of the argument, that civilisation is a thing 
lost, or at least deteriorated, to be regained — and, if it did 
not savour of the modern philosophers' notion of perfecti- 
bility, I should say to be perfected. I can fancy a pert 
arguer asking how our first parents, and their immediate 
descendants, can be said to have been civilised, before there 
was a civitas (civil society) from which civilisation takes its 
name — a bond of the many before there were the many ? 
And why not ? The whole human race was in our forefather. 
His, though injured, perfecter mind than ours, comprehended 
in a high degree all the capabilities of all his posterity — was 
endowed with perceptions of the beautiful in all things, in 
the external and the internal world, himself. If he had few 
to commune with comparatively, even as he advanced in 
years, there could be no lack of thought, for there was yet 
with him that creative faculty complete, which passed on to 
his descendants in inferior power, and has gifted, and still 
gifts, the chosen of mankind with genius. What if the 
brightness, the great conceptions, the super-excellence of 
beauty of the best literature was in him, not latent but alive, 
and germinated, and bore visible fruit in his descendants ? 
Are we to suppose, because it was not contained in bound 
volumes, it could not have been contained in his intellectual 
soul ? Trace such a narrow thought to its legitimate source, 
positive atheism, and who would not be shocked at the con- 
clusion ? What are books ? — the best of them — but the 
regathering up the intellectual and moral treasures, dissi- 
pated and smothered among the heaps of ill- doings of a 
degenerate posterity, who, if they had not degenerated, 
would not have needed them now, but known all, seen all, 
and enjoyed all, by an intuition, which we can never recover 
thoroughly as a possession in this world ? Yes, Eusebius, 



414 CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 

what are books ? The registers of high and pure thoughts 
for us on earth, which, for aught we know to the contrary, 
are duplicated, registered, photographed, as it were, in and 
by a brighter atmosphere, thoughts rising, self-buoyant, out 
of the world's corruptions, which are not allowed to hold 
them. All that is good in all books that ever have been 
written, is good without books, and elsewhere, and was a 
portion of the great universal intelligence as soon as thought 
and conceived, and perhaps before — given and kindly dealt 
out to us (who knows), at any rate needing not a visible 
utterance in printed volumes. Bat what gifts are there that 
have not ever been and are still perverted ? Here comes in 
the old story, the tares among the wheat. There are the 
" devil's books," and plenty of them ; evil thoughts are 
there as well as good thoughts, and all are registered. If 
time was when Eeason was morally clear, it is not so now. 
It is clouded ; there is a thick fog before it ; and however 
fancy may wreathe the vapour-falsity in fascinating shape 
and colour, it still more or less shuts out the brightness of 
Truth ; or, where that partially breaks through, converts it 
into an unreal distorted imagery. Were it not so, would 
not all men see alike ? Should we have the diversities of 
opinions we have ; disputing as we do even about the most 
common right and wrong ; one by one ignoring all virtues ; 
or, quite as bad, stripping them of their divine simplicity, 
and tricking them up in fantastic dressing, to please the eye 
of the mind, no longer single enough for truth ? Who can 
deny that, were not the implanted moral sense depraved, and 
hence the Reason, we should be now here, on this earth, the 
"just men made perfect" which we are only capable of being 
made hereafter ? We greatly boast of human reason, but 
where is it as a one recognised or recognisable entity ? We 
are all flattered as rational beings, whereas we should be 
rather called capable of receiving reason, and that each of us 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 415 

perhaps in small portions. Eeason as an absolute whole is 
with no one. It has its thousand problems, some of which 
we work out for ourselves with painful labour, and by expe- 
rience, for our limited individual use. It is a bewildered 
fancy that conjectures beyond a narrow sphere, and dreams 
of a perfectibility in wisdom. Knowledge — knowledge ! 
It is a cant and conceited cry. The Tree of Knowledge 
bears two kinds of fruit, good and evil ; both are plucked 
and eaten, poison and strengthen. There is no stronger 
mark of our innate imperfection than that we are all claim- 
ing reason as our rightful infallibility, while at the same time 
we have its manifold misshapen and discoloured phantasma- 
goria playing trickeries before our very eyes. " Eyes have 
they, and see not." Is not that passage of truth exemplified 
everywhere ? How came human reason to be a divided 
thing ? Doubtless it was once one. When was its moral sense 
disrupted from its intellectual ? Intellect must have been 
once trath-seeing, and must therefore have been itself a 
moral knowing and feeling power. We know where the his- 
tory of its declension is told. That same history tells the 
hopeful future, that the moral and intellectual are to be 
reunited ; and it shows in some degree the mysterious how, 
before mankind can be perfected in reason. What inference, 
you may ask, Eusebius, would I draw from this argument ? 
Simply this, that knowledge, mere knowledge, as it is not an 
unmixed thing, is a doubtful good — good only as we care- 
fully, cautiously use it. It requires much sifting. If the 
sulphur get into the otherwise innocent ingredients, it be- 
comes a dangerous compound, that, coming in contact with 
fiery natures, may blow all the laboured works of civilisation 
to atoms. 

I have no patience, Eusebius, to hear this perpetual cant 
of educationists, that knowledge is everything — this perpe- 
tual cramming fact upon fact, and nothing but fact, into the 



416 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

brain of man, woman, and child — fact good and fact bad, 
without discrimination, so that it be fact, and too often sur- 
mises and fallacies mistaken for facts. There is an art of 
false reasoning easier taught than that of true reasoning. 
Knowledge, in the sense in which knowledge is usually 
taken, is no panacea for the ills that are in the world. There 
is but one cure for them — one, though two in name — moral 
and religious training — the training which tends to make, 
not knowing, but wise. What a pity it is that our beautiful 
Church Catechism, that pure moral training, is set aside so 
widely ! There is a knowledge that keeps up bad pride — 
this keeps it down ; elevating through humility ; teaching 
to be just, kind, contented — in fact, good. I cannot repeat 
this lamentation on the neglect of this best teaching too 
often ; mere secular knowledge, either for high or low, is, as 
a teaching, in nine cases out of ten, worthless. Even com- 
mon useful knowledge is less taught than the showy and 
useless. I find even a government inspector complaining of 
the "high-flown school" system; and, as a result, of a 
neglect of the useful and practical. Speaking of an exami- 
nation, he says : " Not one of the boys could tell, if wheat 
was 7s. 6d. a bushel, what seven quarters would cost? But 
they readily answered such questions as, What is the specific 
gravity of the planets Saturn and Jupiter ? " Happily there 
are judicious inspectors who effectually and beneficially per- 
form their duties, and are sensible of the ambitious mistakes 
made by some of their brethren. 

It was no bad expression of the poet Afranius, that 
" knowledge is the daughter of use (experience) and me- 
mory." The commentary on which passage, in Aulus Gel- 
lius, is quite to the point, as to the need of exercise in 
M common things," in preference to the " inanitates ver- 
borum." Our educational systems are propagating the 
pedantry of knowledge ; and this pedantry, in all variety of 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 417 

prescriptions, is trumpeted about, like other deleterious 
medicines, as the cure for every moral malady under the sun. 
It is a common observation that mere book-men and fact- 
men have the narrowest minds. They want the daily inter- 
course with their fellow- creatures, and the common sympathies 
of life. Yes, Eusebius, the cultivation of human sympathies, 
how little is that regarded ! There is no provision for the 
amusement of the people in common, from which both know- 
ledge is to be acquired and sympathies begot. Popular 
amusement, by the very congregating people together in 
enjoyment, wears away that crust of selfishness, which, in a 
stagnating state of universal dulness, settles round every in- 
dividual heart. Bigotry of a new kind — puritanism — struck 
out too many holidays from the calendar ; games and sports, 
and days of general cheerfulness, were not looked upon, as 
they should have been, as educational. Would, Eusebius, 
we had more of them now. The public mind wants to be 
stirred, not by its interests only, but away from those en- 
grossing interests, by enjoyments that are in common. I 
look upon it, that war is at this moment giving not unim- 
portant education. It is stirring the general heart — making 
it sensitive to every touch of generosity — awakening what 
has been too long dormant ; and, through the best feelings, 
quickening the understanding. Events that reach every- 
body make a present portion of everybody's education. 
When the heart, as the saying is, comes up into the throat and 
chokes utterance, which every man has recently witnessed 
when he participated with his neighbours in the admiration 
of the heroic deeds of his countrymen in the Crimea, there is 
an ennobling spirit that will neither soon nor easily be sup- 
pressed ; and more is done for the national character than 
knowledge schools can ever effect. The many become one 
in honest pride, the whole moral of a man is raised, and that 
lifting up pervades the land ; it reaches the remotest corners, 

2 D 



418 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and brings all, however distant, together, in one absorbing in- 
terest and general sense of fellowship. There is one common 
participation in glory, one common sympathy for the suffering. 
The better life is thriving, the general heart and understanding 
are quickened together. War and danger sharpen the wits; 
both move and direct the passions, and leave no stagnant pools 
for the understanding to be smothered in. Thus, war civilises. 
It is in its own nature generous ; for the true soldier is ever 
gentle — pities and succours his wounded foe ; and when, 
after warfare done, such soldiers return to their native land, 
and town, or country homes, they are schoolmasters in their 
way, and no bad ones: they have acquired two great human 
virtues — fortitude to endure, and a gentle pity ; and these 
they impart to a population about them.* I call this educa- 
tion ; for there has been experience ; and so large, that 
some judgment can scarcely be wanting. " Learning is 
folly," says the proverb, " unless judgment have the use of 
it." And how is judgment acquired ? It is mother -wit 
sharpened, and able to decide by intercourse with the bigger 
world. This is training ; it is showing a man what he is, 
by enabling him to compare himself with many others ; and 
it teaches him the general human nature, by seeing infinite 
varieties of characters ; and not only by seeing, but by 
mingling with them, and finding their agreements and dis- 
agreements ; and thus the world's scholar learns to think, 
which is far better than to know, at least such things as are 
very often taught, and which never can be turned to any use. 
It was a happy thought to set up schools to teach " common 

* " With some experience of the world in this matter, I have found myself 
a child. I never till note knew what a soldier really was. I never could have 
dreamt that the serious business of a soldier's life and death could develop 
such true nobility of character as I have lately witnessed. I have myself 
leamt the lesson letter by letter. Would that I possessed the power to im- 
part it to others ! It is one that forbids vicarious teaching, &e. &c. — S. G. 
Osborxe." — Times, January % 1855. 



CIVILISATION.' — THE CENSUS. 419 

things." Let us hope they will flourish, for they are sadly 
wanted. Therein is the foundation of a good social educa- 
tion. And what is social education ? will be asked by some 
crotchety educationists. It begins with home, and widens 
in the circle of life. It is the teaching the well-doing the 
duties that properly belong to home and to society. Very 
many are there who think that modern teaching has taken 
quite another and a worse direction, and that the mass of 
the people have deteriorated in the knowing and the doing 
these duties. The emulation encouraged in national schools 
has too much of the anti-national in it. And this has had 
a very mischievous influence among young women of the 
lower classes. They marry, and know not how to keep their 
homes — how to cater in home-comforts. The husband comes 
to an unclean house, a bad fire, an ill-dressed dinner — the 
wife has never learnt that first, most necessary business, how 
to cook. What is the consequence ? The unsatisfied hus- 
band is put out of humour ; he quits the house which has 
ceased to look like a home — and where does he go ? Not far 
off is a public-house. A clean room, a sanded floor, and a 
bright fire, are irresistible temptations. He meets others 
there, like himself, driven out and tempted in, and the very 
first day makes him an incipient sot. Consider his case. 
Where else can he go ? Is there any very cheap amusement 
wisely provided for him out of a public-house ? None, in 
country or in town. If he loves a freer range, and the fields, 
he is suspected as a poacher ; and perhaps from the exuber- 
ance of animal spirits, and the love of danger natural to all 
(and long may it be so), and from the excitement of the 
public-house talk and drink, a poacher he becomes. If means 
of innocent amusement are not found for him, he will find 
amusement of another kind for himself. Who can reasonably 
wonder if moral evils spring up and grow to magnitude 
among us ? And it is thought that this moral evil is to be 



420 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

cured by books and lectures ; and cramming unwilling and 
disobedient heads, " crassd invitdque Minerva," with the fop- 
peries, puerilities, and crudities of learning, called know- 
ledge. They who think so, know not human nature. Taste 
for book-learning never can be a general taste. How hard is 
it to give it any animation even in the higher classes — how 
difficult to set a youth of any class to book- work. I suppose 
nature intends it should be irksome work, and that only a 
few should be gifted with studious desires ; for it is sur- 
prising how few, of all who go through a public school, or 
even a university, become readers in after-life, or have ac- 
quired anything like a stock of knowledge according to 
the educationist's interpretation of knowledge. But it 
does not follow that they have not acquired other know- 
ledge. They assuredly have, and become their stations. If 
this be so with the higher classes, how are we to expect 
better — if they be better things — from the humbler classes, 
whom, in the first place, nature has endowed with other 
gifts, to fit them for their work? And even though they 
should be gifted with literary capacities — as now and then 
is unquestionably the case, for nature is above working by 
too exact a rule — what difficulties must they encounter ; 
and come to the task with weary bodies and minds ; and how 
few can persevere, with health to their bodies and satisfied 
minds. These few will find their own way, — will, as they 
have always done — and there are eminent examples — edu- 
cate themselves. Such will learn little from schools, and 
can furnish no argument for a system. Under, then, the dis- 
comforts of home — from the lack of teaching the young 
women of the lower classes the common things needful — if 
we would have their homes really homes, what is to be done 
to check the moral evils that are so damaging to our whole 
social system ? First, then, teach common things. But that 
is not all. Find amusements for the people, and room for 






CIVILISATION". — THE CENSUS. 421 

amusements. Circumscribe them not too much, that they 
cannot move without a trespass. The teetotaller will say, 
put down the public-houses ; and he may be partly right, 
inasmuch as he means, *put down drunkenness. I would 
rather say, instead of putting them down, convert them into 
something better ; remove from them the power of intoxi- 
cating. But this putting down the public-houses is not the 
next step to be taken, nor a practicable one ; for until you 
can find the people means of other amusements, you cannot 
put them down. Then it will be said, let them have amuse- 
ments ; but of what kind would you propose ? In towns 
particularly, but elsewhere also, have they not Beading 
Societies, Book-lending Societies, and Athenaeums, and all 
those sorts of things ? — and do we not mean to provide them 
more ? And is there not a bill now in Parliament for library 
rates ? yes ! All mere folly. Who has not seen the 
statistics of these reading societies and lecture societies, with 
fine names ? And what are the books mostly read ? The 
history of Jack Sheppard, and such nice educational works. 
Nay, we know one grand Athenaeum where some members, 
disgusted with very blasphemous passages in a certain maga- 
zine, with great difficulty obtained a vote for its rejection; 
but a violent opposition was formed, and the mischievous 
work was voted in again. And as to the library scheme by 
a rate — in the first place, while books are so cheap, it is not 
wanted ; and if it were, it is of impracticable working. Who 
are they, after this Athenaeum specimen of catering, who are 
to select the works ? Or, if every donation be to be accepted, 
what a pretty library would be put before the public, of sedi- 
tion, immorality, and irreligion. It would be impossible to 
provide against these evils. Not that reading-rooms should 
be considered in themselves objectionable, if established by 
societies not too large — so that they may be regulated under 
unity, or something like unity, of opinion and principle. 



422 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

When too large, the mischievous (who are generally the 
more active) are sure to govern. Make not such societies 
like drag-nets, that take in fish of every kind, without power 
to cast back the worse, and which only serve in the keeping 
to taint the others. No, Eusebius, the people want far other 
provision — amusements of a less dubious, and more certainly 
improving kind. 

You see how I am beating about the bush ; — how I seem 
to shirk saying what should be done ; — with what care I 
mask my battery, as if afraid of an enemy, and desirous of 
having him within range of the shot. Of course it is some- 
thing very awful. Be it so. 

" 'Tis dangerous to disturb a hornet's nest." That which 
I would propose has obtained the advocacy of the wise in all 
times, but has encountered the wrath of bigots ; and the 
bigots have been too many ; and what then ? — they have 
made for us " a sad world, my masters." The bolder way 
is the best ; so, in a few words, Eusebius, will I out with 
the worst at once. Thus — I would that every village in 
England had a church at one end of it, and a theatre at 
the other. A theatre at the other ! ! How many hands and 
eyes, Protestant and protesting, are upraised against this 
simple word — a theatre. But be so good as to sit down, 
ladies and gentlemen, and have a little patience while I ex- 
plain myself. You are not really so averse to the thing as 
you imagine ; you have it, but you have not the name. Needs 
it not to say where, but you really have theatres, not so de- 
signated, with stages and platforms, and very practised actors 
too. Verbum sat. There is more acting in the world than 
takes its name professional. Volumes have been written, 
more than enough, against plays and theatres, whereas the 
subject should have been the abuse of them. If suppression 
of the thing is to follow an argument upon its abuse, what 
will be safe ? Beligion itself would have to be suppressed 



CIVILISATION.— THE CENSUS. 423 

by acclamation. Such extravagance as this is like the folly 
of the teetotallers, who have ruined their own good inten- 
tions and a better cause by their total-suppression views. 
Common sense has kicked their theory out of doors, when 
they chalked the back of him who took a pint of small beer 
or a glass of wine as a drunkard. So, in persecuting plays, 
instead of rectifying them, the puritans did their best to put 
down what was essentially good. Its evil was its accident. 
The very origin of the drama was religious ; and when it first 
wandered from distinct religious teaching, it still attached 
itself to the virtues. They were then the old " moralities." 
The drama, progressing and accommodating itself to wants 
or desires of the people, assumed a more varied form, and 
took upon itself to exhibit manners — to portray life as it is, 
in all its circumstances and accidents ; and by so doing, it 
brought the world at large, as it were, home to every man's 
door, and provided thus a substitute for the means of acquir- 
ing knowledge by ubiquity — by that travel into the wider 
sphere denied to the masses of the people. The drama be- 
came a remedy against the narrowness and ignorance of 
circumscribed localities ; and they to whom occasionally good 
plays were brought home, knew something more of mankind 
and of themselves, and had both their hearts and understand- 
ings enlarged. In this way the drama was, as it ever might 
be if properly cared for and directed, in the best sense educa- 
tional. People were brought together for general amuse- 
ment. There is much in that ; their delights were in com- 
mon. They felt in common — they distinguished in common 
— the good from the bad. They learned at what to laugh 
and at what to weep. They conceived the greater antipathy 
to vice and crime, by seeing how universally odious these 
were to all around them ; and,, by well-timed ridicule and 
gentle satire, corrected the minor vices of their own manners. 
Now, Eusebius, if this ever was true, or if it be in the nature 



424 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

of things possible, tell me if here are not means of education, 

even of acquiring knowledge, too much neglected, worse than 

neglected — cast aside, with an ill name, as an " unholy 

thing." I would go further and say, that a natural want is 

suppressed, and that never can be done with impunity. A 

natural want — yes, Eusebius, — in its strictest sense. The 

curiosity to know all about mankind, of which we form a part, 

is an instinct. The veriest infant loves the little story, 

and to have dramatised to him the ways, the habits, of all 

creatures around him, and always with a certain application 

to himself; hence the child's delight in fables. As the 

child grows, he gathers his little experiences into stories of 

his own making. Groups of young ones meet in byways of 

lanes and hedges, and, for lack of larger dramas put before 

them, act their own. Every village and town has multitudes 

of these unrecognised, unobserved " minor theatres." Is not, 

then, the theatre an instinctive want ! We are imitative for 

its purpose. Nature impels us to the drarna as a means of 

acquiring knowledge, and something better than knowledge, 

as knowledge is understood. It is an ally and adjunct to 

religion. Has there ever been known a people among 

whom, in some form or other, the drama was not ? The 

more civilised nations become, the stronger is its necessity. 

The Germans have a saying — "Bread and the theatre." They 

make it the second necessity of life. The French carry it still 

higher — they make it the first, for they say — "The theatre 

and bread." The wisest statesmen have encouraged it. The 

Eomans won the world by amusing it, as well as by arms. 

Caesar loved the comic, and encouraged the "mimes" of 

Labeling and Publius Syrus. He would have the broad farce, 

thinking that people could not laugh too much — complaining 

that Terence wanted somewhat more of the vis comica. To 

the Greeks the drama was the all-in-all of life. It was their 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 425 

refining process of education— their school of virtues. Tragedy 
first, for its heroic action, to raise the whole man — and 
comedy, as a corrective of social vices. It is true the latter 
was sometimes abused ; but what of that ? "With us the 
drama reached at one time its acme of abomination. It was 
persecuted, and out of spite to its persecutors changed its 
true nature and purpose. It would not be difficult to correct 
the drama and make it a most useful teacher ; and this has 
been the opinion of very wise and good men. I will quote 
an applicable passage from a sermon of Archbishop Tillot- 
son : — 

" To speak against them (viz. plays) in general, may be thought 
too severe, and that which the present age cannot too well brook, 
and would not, perhaps, be so just and reasonable, because it is 
very possible they might be so framed, and governed by such 
rules, as not only to be innocently diverting, but iustructing and 
useful ; to put some vices and follies out of countenance, which 
cannot perhaps be so decently reproved, nor so effectually exposed 
and corrected any other way." 

This sound judgment was given when theatres were per- 
haps in their worst state. The last paragraph of the quota- 
tion is of great weight, for it shows the link wanting in the 
sermon to connect the lesson of morality with real life. The 
sermon may not descend to ridicule — the drama may. The 
action in the sermon is confined and weak in description. 
The dramatis personce are no mere pictures ; they show visibly, 
and to the life, what is good or what is odious. 

" Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures 
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus ; et quae 
Ipse sibi tradit spectator." 

" Show me your company and I will tell you what you are," 
is a truth. The play has its good companionships. Down 
went the play and down went king and bishops, and they 



426 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

were all restored together. Even John Milton,* who was 
never quite comfortable and at home in his puritanism, loved 
the drama, and wrote plays, both in his yonth and in his 
mature and declining years ; and thought it no profanation 
to take his subject from the Bible. Hear with what respect 
he speaks of the drama : — 

" Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on ; 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild." 

Again — 

" Sometime let gorgeous tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 
Presenting Thebes' or Pelops' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine ; 
Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskin' d stage." 

That is well said — " ennobled." Even in Puritan Milton's 
view, then (if Puritan he was), the stage was noble. And 
why may it not be noble again ? Subject as we are to all 
the joys and sorrows of life, it cannot be amiss to have an 
initiatory discipline, — an imaginary and vicarious experience 
of situations in which we may in reality one day find our- 
selves, a fore-trial of the virtue that is in us. It is well to 
know the stuff we are made of, and pass judgment on our 
powers, through fictions true to life, before the day of the 
demand for action. It is surely beneficial to have our natures 
stirred to sympathies — for these natural instincts lack use ; to 
take home to ourselves the luxury of our feelings, without 
their real pain. Years ago, Eusebius, when we (that is, you 
and I) were both of us not past the moulding days of our 

* This is noticed in very pleasant irony by that amusing critic Dennis, in 
his reply to Collier, who wrote fiercely against the stage. The reply of Dennis 
is admirable for its spirit. The reader will find it a very good defence of the 
stage. 






CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 427 

moral life, we were not only readers of plays, but frequenters 
of theatres ; and often have we since then looked back, and 
studied our educational process, through a public school and 
the university ; and agreed in this, that we owe much, per- 
haps the best portion of our moral culture, to The Play. The 
strength and tenderness of true manhood are growing together 
during the action of a good play. Every play-goer must 
have noticed how a generous sentiment has found an electric 
passage to the hearts of the spectators, — how noble action or 
pity has in an instant made all classes akin. How often, 
beyond the power of all other persuasion, has low vice been 
at a moment convicted of its odiousness. Here is an instance. 
Our friend S. told me the other day that, being at a theatre 
(I think at Brighton) when Othello was acted, he noticed, 
with much satisfaction, the unanimous burst of approval from 
the audience to Cassio's repentant condemnation of drunken- 
ness : " that men should put an enemy into their mouths 
to steal away their brains ; that we should with joy, revel, 
pleasure, and applause transform ourselves into beasts." 
You told me, Eusebius, of a temperance society travelling the 
country with two dramatis personal, a confirmed and a re- 
claimed drunkard — example and warning. If a fact, it is an 
incident of a dramatic kind, but wanting in the circumstance 
of a plot. I expect this will be called the fair side of the 
subject, — the best aspect. The question should be, is it a 
true one ? Has not the theatre this fair side ? Let this then 
be considered its legitimate, its uncorrupted beauty. Can- 
dour must admit the other view. But if it be an educational 
means, as I believe it to be, I would have it purified, cared 
for, guarded. No sensible man would let loose the ribaldry 
of a degenerate stage, to invade any educational system. 
There should be a real effectual censorship. I know very 
well difficulties that seem insuperable present themselves. 
But what good is not beset with difficulties ? The best 



428 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

theatres may be purified with real advantage to themselves. 
It would be Quixotic indeed to expect any government, in 
the present state of things, of adverse opinions and prejudices, 
to set up throughout the land theatrical amusements, though 
they might do much less rational things. Yet, Eusebius, I 
firmly believe that all the public grants for educational pur- 
poses, beyond what would be needful for the teaching read- 
ing, writing, and arithmetic, would be far better bestowed in 
some such scheme than for the absurd, high-flown, useless 
education which the ingenuity of emulous Government 
inspectors unhappily invents. A few good travelling- com- 
panies of actors would very profitably displace the whole 
roving company of inspectors. Actors have their dignity of 
title — " Her Majesty's servants." Give them a due repute, 
and they will learn to keep it. There is, however, another 
quarter to which it may not be so unreasonable to look : the 
country gentry. It would be admirable if, by themselves or 
professional actors, they would, in their little villages and 
towns, set up, with care and forethought as to moral tendencies, 
theatrical amusements — at least occasionally during their 
visits to their estates. Plans also of small subscriptions 
might be devised in places less under the other influence, so 
that very cheap admissions might be adopted. That was a 
right pleasant scheme set on foot by some of our best literary 
men, when they visited our towns, and acted so admirably, 
" Not so bad as we seem." I should like to see these amateur 
performances extended to our villages. Would not this 
general communion, this mutuality in amusement, tend 
greatly to endear class to class ? The aristocracy are lec- 
turing — that is well and praiseworthy, and will have good 
effect ; but the theatrical scheme would be far better teaching, 
and give infinitely more pleasure. Besides, they confine 
their lectures to town Athenaeums, where teaching and amuse- 
ments are far less wanted. Let joy be diffused over the 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 429 

population, rural as well as town ; it has worn a sad discon- 
tented aspect long enough. There should not be a nook in 
England where something of Shakespeare should not be 
known, through his plays. If there were little theatres, 
under regulation, with attached tea-and-coffee houses, all 
intoxicating drink prohibited, our beer-shops and disgraceful 
spirit pot-houses would find daily decreasing custom, and 
ultimately suppress themselves ; for the lack of amusement 
is their encouragement — nay, their very life. 

Let any one, who has not much encountered dramatic 
reading, enter upon a regular course of study of our best old 
dramatists, and he will be surprised to find what noble trea- 
sures have been within his reach, and hidden from him. 
And if he be pure himself, he will receive no hurt from the 
dross. The good will remain and germinate. He will be 
convinced that there is an education of the jDeople too much 
neglected. 

It is not a bad time, Eusebius, to recommend that thea- 
trical amusements should be engrafted upon educational 
schemes ; for although many causes, and chiefly a change in 
the horns of domestic appointments, have damaged the 
fashion of the theatre, yet the old prejudices are wearing 
away ; and a little purification in the management would 
easily remove the more substantial and real objections. 
There is not, nowadays, the affectation of ignorance of and 
contempt for the drama which was very common when we 
were younger. We shall not now have such an instance of 
this affectation of ignorance as the following, told me a few 
days since by a friend. He said he remembered a wealthy 
Quaker, of mercantile consequence, a utilitarian contemner of 
unrealities, coming to his father and saying, " Friend, thee 
knowest something of play-wright, and hast heard of one 
William Shakespeare and David Grarrick. These men having 
a dispute as to what part of England produced the greater 



430 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

number of fools, laid a wager upon it ; and it was determined 
that it should be a foolish exhibition at Stratford-on-Avon, 
to which all the world should be invited. This was done, 
and it was found that the greater number of visitors came 
from London." I remember a story of an elderly Quaker 
being seen at a play, with the ready excuse that he only went 
to see if any of their young folks were there. A few years 
after this the young folks emancipated themselves from such 
prohibitory discipline ; for more than twenty years since a 
youth of the Society, with whom I had a day's travel on the 
top of a coach, asked me, when we arrived at a large city, 
if I would accompany him to the play. I expressed sur- 
prise. He assured me they were no longer under that 
restraint. 

This may be thought a long digression concerning theatres, 
having little to do with Census and Civilisation. But con- 
sider what education really is, and all the various modes by 
which people may be taught : how few are there more effec- 
tual, if properly applied, than the drama ? I will end the 
discussion, as I began it, with a wish that every village had 
a church at one end of it, and a theatre at the other ; and I 
will add, a good parsonage-house in the centre, and a well- 
educated rector or vicar within, gladdening his flock by 
sympathising with them in their enjoyments as well as their 
cares and duties. Little need would there be of absurd high- 
flown teachings, and such vanities. as are some Government 
inspectors. — And now, Eusebius, 

" E diver ticulo in viam." 

When I branched off to this by-play, I had been speaking 
of public libraries and Athenaeums. Educationists are urging 
scholarship by compulsion and penalty, and means of after- 
study by a compulsory penny rate for libraries. All vanity, 
vanity, vanity ! The difficulty of getting books has been 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 431 

discussed — that is, a selection ; for it is possible that if a 
push is made for the management, there may be very infa- 
mous libraries indeed. I will not give them credit for having 
many readers after the first novelty of the privilege has worn 
off, unless the reading be of a mischievously exciting cha- 
racter, in which case they who have ivith design pushed 
themselves into the management, will push in readers also. 
The press teems with publications whose object is to subvert 
all our institutions, and the monarchy itself. Public libraries 
might in too many cases become clubs, religious, or rather 
irreligious, and political ; and what necessity can be urged ? 
Books are so cheap that the poorest may buy all he would 
read. At the window of the largest bookseller in a large city 
were the following temptations for any aspirants for know- 
ledge : " Hurd's Horace, 4 vols. ; Harwood's Classics, 2 
volumes ; Shenstone's Poems, 2 vols. These books will 
be given away to any who will undertake to read them." 
" Godwin's St Leon, and two others," on the same terms ; 
and "Eight vols, of Spectator" followed — terms, ditto. I 
was conversing lately with an active member of a magnifi- 
cent Athenaeum, He lamented that, though they had a 
library, no one ever read there. 

If it be asked, what are the objects to be obtained by all 
this parade of educational machinery? and the answer be 
given, to promote the happiness of the people and suppress 
crimes, it is time to inquire what has been the result. There 
is a universal complaint of the frightful increase of crime. 
Government has, for some years past, expended large annual 
sums for schools : these sums have been at the disposal of 
the Committee of Privy Council. " The Committee of Privy 
Council has been gradually developed from a rather humble 
origin to its present large dimensions, mainly by fortuitous 
events, and principally by the legislative failures which 
demonstrated the inability of Government to carry any large 



432 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and comprehensive measure. It was then perceived that 
if the State was to act at once and efficiently in promoting 
education, it was only through the medium of this Committee 
that its operations could be carried on. Accordingly, the 
plans of the Committee were elaborated, and the funds at 
its command progressively augmented, till they reached in 
1853 the annual amount of £260,000. That this amount 
will be increased still farther, seems to be inevitable, unless 
speedily some national measure be adopted." Large sums, 
then, have been expended, and larger contemplated — cut 
bono f What has been done for the happiness or correction 
of the people, that could not have been done by the people 
themselves ? If the people were encouraged practically, by 
showing them the good that a rational, sensible education 
might offer, to set up schools of their own ; if rewards were 
held out, by promoting to offices and employments of all 
grades, good, industrious, and moral and religious scholars, 
parents would not be negligent to provide the means, and 
they would be themselves morally better for this care and 
responsibility. They frequently become vicious by the 
indulgence of a family neglect forced upon them. This State 
interference has also sown jealousies, envies, discontents, 
among all classes, and given mischievous life and activity to 
sectarian disagreements which were before dormant or qui- 
escent. These things promote neither happiness nor-virtue. 
That education promotes both, no man of sense doubts ; 
but what the word signifies should be first known. Let 
there be education which shall put all in a condition to make 
fair way in a world full of business transactions — that is, 
elementary teaching — and that elementary is the starting- 
post from which those who are properly gifted and disposed 
to advance, shall begin their farther education. As to happi- 
ness, is not the elementary as likely to make people happy 
as the more advanced, if it best fits their capacities — makes 



CIVILISATION. THE CENSUS. 433 

them fully know and practise the businesses which belong to 
their stations ? To create a general craving for the grapes 
out of reach will never make people happy. To warn them 
to be content will. But this, as I have shown, is not the 
view of happiness taken by theoretic educationists and this 
monitory Governor Census. Neither does forced hot-bed 
education promote virtue. Morality does not grow out of 
mere knowing much ; it may grow out of feeling much — out of 
a sensitive tenderness, which merely intellectual knowledge 
is apt to choke. Be it admitted that this brain-forcing pro- 
cess may, where the natural fibre is strong enough to bear 
it, make many clever who never would otherwise have been 
clever. Then comes the question, if they are made happier 
by being thrust into a class already stocked as full as nature 
ever meant it should be, for the general provision of a civil- 
ised country. The educationists, in that case, have made 
up a battalion of clever men for whom there is no work, but 
to turn rogues or mischief-makers for their very bread. 
There is nothing in this high-flown cleverness that savours 
of honesty. Wits that are sharpened for speculation are apt 
to spurn the humility of contented virtue. Look into the 
doings of this our world, Eusebius. Who are the great 
mischief-makers, and ever have been so? Clever men. 
Nature supplies enough of them, gently to irritate the world 
that it go not to sleep. But industriously to set about 
making more of this necessary evil, should be looked upon 
as a very unnecessary folly. A clever portion of a popula- 
tion may become far too many for the honest portion ; for 
wise indeed in their generation, when they would do extra- 
ordinary mischief, they set about it with the aid of the 
blockheads — 

" — . — that tool 
" That wise men work with, called a Fool." 

It is a very great mistake of this boasted "nineteenth 
2 E 



434 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

century " that conceits a clever man to be a good man ; and 
therefore hath it set about manufacturing the intractable 
article. As I have said before, it has foolishly resolved 
crime into ignorance, and goes on with this notion, infecting 
legislature, and unfortunately jurymen, with this madly 
floundering and blundering philosophy. It thinks to cure 
vigorous adult vice by lecture, admonition, and books, and 
sciences ; and, when it has made the wicked still more 
wicked, by every temptation to become hypocrites, presents 
them, in the maudlin-pathetic vein, with a ticket of leave, 
absolution from punishment, to trace out and practise against 
the injured innocent portion of society the schemes they have 
had both time and inclination to devise during their temporary 
seclusion. You cannot take up a paper without reading notices 
of crimes committed, and atrocious ones, by returned convicts 
and these licensed villains. It has come to such a pass that 
a general alarm is spreading. Were it not that the war is 
absorbing all thought and all action, the question, "What is to 
be done with our criminal population ?" would be demanded 
of Parliament by the thoroughly alarmed nation. There are 
some very sensible suggestions on this subject in the Edin- 
burgh Review. The writer would deal with certain offenders, 
not according to the immediate offences for which they are 
convicted, but as belonging to a " criminal class." " It 
becomes, therefore, our clear duty to the community, as well 
as an act of justice and mercy to the offender himself, to take 
him in hand as soon as a second conviction has shown that 
he belongs to the ' criminal class,' and protect society against 
him in the only way in which, as all experience has proved, 
it can be protected — by reforming him, and incapacitating 
him till he is reformed. It is of no use to urge that his 
offence is so small, his theft so trifling, that a sentence of 
long duration would be disproportionately severe. That 
consideration is wholly beside the question ; he has forfeited 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 435 

his citizenship by abusing it ; he has made war against 
society, and it is for society thenceforward to decide his fate ; 
he has given society a right to protect itself against him in 
the manner it deems most effectual." If further protection, 
by severity apparently beyond the measure of immediate 
offence, be needed in case of thefts, what shall be said of that 
ultra- criminal class — the utterly brutalised, the ferocious 
ruffians, in whose hardened hearts every spark of living 
humanity has been long quenched ? One of these let loose 
upon the world, after conviction, is sure to make many as bad 
as himself, as the loosened devils are said to take to them- 
selves seven others ; and their deeds are frightful to think of. 
I some years ago read the almost boasting confession of one 
of this class, made after a last conviction, that, within a short 
period of escape from a former conviction, he had been prin- 
cipal or accessary in thirteen murders. I verily believe that 
if the history of ruffianism were paged, this would be found 
to be no extraordinary case. Ruffians of this description 
should be treated as the incurable insane, with the difference 
only of guilt and of punishment, which should be such as 
would afford a warning, by the mystery of their being shut 
out from the very cognisance of a world in which they could 
only act the part of brutes. Ragged schools are a charity 
which, by their industrial provisions, may do much with 
juvenile offenders. But what man of fair understanding and 
common experience can entertain a hope, by any kind of adult 
schooling, to convert into good and safe citizens the elder 
street-Thugs, ferocious beaters of women, and wife-murderers ? 
They have rushed headlong out of reach of the mercy of all 
humane jurisdiction, and must be left by man to the judgment 
of a higher tribunal. There is a silly notion of philanthropy, 
neither justified by policy nor religion, yet widely dissemi- 
nated, and hurtful to social health, and even safety. It is 
asserted by teachers of this school, that offenders deserve, 



436 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

and should receive, only pity ; that punishment is of the 
nature of crime. Every man's instinct proclaims it to be 
false. Patria, one's country, implies a Pater — paternity in 
king or governor — a watchful eye over all " the children" of 
the State, to punish the evil, as to protect and encourage the 
good — otherwise vice and virtue are but idle words, and dis- 
tinguish nothing. That government which is all lenient, 
knows but half its duty. Misplaced indulgence, either in a 
family or a kingdom, is a weakness. It obtains no respect, 
and never wins the quiet it aims at. Thus it was not without 
reason that Chiron, the Centaur, the half man and half beast, 
was made the tutor of Achilles, to show that a prince should 
be taught to rule the reasonable by gentleness and law, and 
the unreasonable and refractory by coercion and punishment. 
Continue awhile, Eusebius, this parental idea, and see if it 
will not carry into the very substance of the text, that por- 
tion of my letter which I feared you would consider a digres- 
sion — that I would have a theatre in moral alliance with a 
doctrinal church. As prevention is better than cure, the 
father of the State, whether king or government, as the father 
of the family, should, even above all things, provide amuse- 
ment for the many under the paternal care ; and remembering 
the common saying, that " all work and no play makes but a 
dull scholar," should in every possible way promote home 
cheerfulness, and see that there be little sadness. An over- 
morbid, a sad unamused people, turn religion itself into 
gloom, and morality into moroseness ; * and that portion of a 
population whose livelier natures revolt from both, rush in 

* His desire to establish sports and games throughout the kingdom caused 
very much of the bitter enmity against Laud. Then did the Directory, in the 
opposite extreme, vote the Common Prayer, the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, 
and the Ten Commandments, useless, and issued an ordinance for turning 
Christmas-day into a fast. Had Charles I. had in him a little of the fierce, 
not to say brutal nature, of the Chiron tuition, which was in the masculine 
Elizabeth and her unyielding father, he would never have been hurried into 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 437 

disgust into vice, which offers ever too ready a temptation 
and refuge in pot-houses and beer-shops ; and there drunken- 
ness commences its career, which seldom ends but in crime. 
There never was a bad people without a bad or careless govern- 
ment. I am persuaded, Eusebius, that these pest-houses of 
intoxication might be made self-suppressing for lack of custom, 
without any other precise legislation, if places of rational 
amusement and jocund sport were set up, and encouraged by 
judicious license, providing tea and coffee and harmless 
refreshments at the cheapest rate, to the entire prohibition, 
in such places, of spirituous and fermented liquors. Where 
plays would be the adopted amusement, there should be much 
liberty allowed, with some unfelt restriction. For instance, 
novelties, beyond those licensed by a censorship, might be 
submitted, before performance, to two or more magistrates 
and the incumbent of the place. You will see that I am 
rather thinking of the country than the town population. 
There may be prudent adaptations of rules and arrangements 
for each. And thus, Eusebius, you perceive how cunning a 
game I play, returning to the charge — amusement — ever 
amusement for the people, as a means to make them more 
social, more moral, and, in despite of what crotchety educa- 
tionists may say, more knowing also. 

Although I have repeatedly deprecated compulsory educa- 
tion, there may, perhaps, be an exceptional case : since, to 
supply the continual immolation to the factory Moloch, that 
murderer of innocents, children must be removed from their 
parents at a very early age, the act, which subtracts three 



weaknesses, ever fatal to princes. Laud and Strafford had not been sacrificed 
— and he might have saved his own head. The sour bigotry which perpetrated 
these crimes, even in its downfall, bequeathed two legacies, the effects of 
which, though quite opposite to each other, have scarcely left us — religious 
gloom, and the irreligion and profligacy of the stage, kept alive by mutual 
spite and hostility. 



438 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

hours a-day for five days every week, at the ages between 
eight and thirteen, from factory work, must be considered 
humane, if at the same time the hours of work are not exces- 
sive, nor without pleasurable relief ; but I see not the required 
information in the Census. It would, however, be more 
humane still, if there could be another compulsion upon 
parents and factory masters, not to offer nor to receive children 
at a very early age. There is no occasion, Eusebius, to say 
now more upon that fearful subject ; what has been said in 
my former letters may suffice. 

I must now revert to the Committee of Privy Council and 
the Government Grant. The report of Census justifies the 
remark, that jealousy and discontent have been the result. 
Dissenters are dissatisfied, because they think the Church of 
England comes in for the larger share of the grant ; whereas 
some sects, Congregationalists and Baptists, " almost univer- 
sally decline to receive the public money ;" while the Church 
of England complains that " the management clauses are 
stringent upon their schools, and relaxed in favour of dissent- 
ing bodies." Upon the other hand, an influential portion of 
the Church of England — represented in this matter by the 
National Society — complains of the conditions by which grants 
to church schools are restricted ; just and reasonable liberty to 
local founders and supporters being, it is urged, denied them. 
It is the fate of meddlers, where there is no need of interference, 
to please nobody. The fable of the Old Man and his Son, 
who could not be allowed to ride, lead, nor carry their donkey, 
might have been a warning. Such interferences generally 
end in doing a little wrong to every party, that impartiality 
may be at least affected ; while the little-wrong doers seem 
to adopt the excuse of the bankrupt debtor to his numerous 
creditors, that they have little need to complain, as they all 
have neighbour's fare. Census makes a statement at some 
length, of the objections on all sides, and leaves the matter 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 439 

pretty much as if he had not touched it at all. In like man- 
ner, also, he treats the Voluntary and Compulsory principles 
of education ; from all which, little new or interesting is to 
be gathered ; and the surest conclusion to be drawn is, that 
all is a " muddle." 

There are schools which are doing much good throughout 
the country — schools of practical art. These are rather 
encouraged than set up and interfered with by the State. 
At first they failed, simply because there was an interference ; 
they are now left to the people to set up and to manage, and 
are showing signs, not only of life, but vigour. They are 
most important to us as a manufacturing nation. If the 
Anglo-Saxon race have not strongly developed the instinct 
of taste, a knowledge of its principles as to form and colour 
may certainly be acquired ; for these are principles of taste. 
Our instincts may be dormant, overwhelmed with thought 
and action of more pressing moment. I hope the instincts 
are within, and that good sense, applied to the principles of 
taste, will bring them to the surface, and make them visible 
in works. I have seen much, Eusebius, of the teaching 
process of these schools, and the result. The masters are 
excellent, and in this we have to thank the Government. 
The eye and the head are made to work together ; accuracy 
is of the first importance. Advancing the scholar's mind, 
as well as hand and eye, is exercised ; and a knowledge of 
perspective — a branch of the art too much neglected by 
drawing-masters — thoroughly acquired. I have been sur- 
prised to see what pains, and at the same time what interest, 
the scholars take in the work. All classes attend these 
schools ; and doubtless they are extending a love of art 
throughout the country, and will give to future amateurs and 
artists that accuracy in drawing in which we have been said to 
be defective. The mechanic classes in our towns, at first led 
to these schools by a desire to improve in their art, will find 



440 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 






gradually developed to them beauties in art they dreamed not 
of. Their minds will thus become occupied to make further 
discoveries ; they will have acquired a new sense — a devngov 
o/Aj&a — a second eye, as it has been called, and while they 
advance their profits, they will advance their pleasures also ; 
and what is the end but a better civilisation? These are 
not schools of idle speculation, where inspectors come to 
puzzle pupils with learning riddles, and exercise a foolish 
ingenuity, but here people may learn what they have to 
do; and for the doing which, benefit will accrue to them- 
selves and the world. All articles of manufacture, all our 
furniture, all of decoration, which is of great importance to 
everyday life, will be improved. The comforts and elegancies 
of life will grow together. Beauty is a synonym for civilisa- 
tion; it touches with its magic our five senses. The eye 
and the ear are the agents through which the mind expands 
to receive its perfect influence. 

I shall weary you, Eusebius, with this education affair, 
although I have not let out the whole string of the argument 
upon you at once, but made a few episodical knots, and 
digressed a little, and then I took up the thread again warily. 
I am pretty well come to the end of it. You may have 
discovered one thing, that whether the subject be general 
statistics, education, or what else, we have no original genius 
for systematising. All our officials are plagiarists ; they are 
all Gullivers ; not one can stay at home, and settle anything 
of home, and for home. Very Gullivers they are — ever at 
some Laputa or Brobdignag. They wait not to see what is 
wanted here, so much as to see what is done elsewhere ; they 
must be ever for Germanising or Americanising. They must 
system-build from a model from New York, or Berlin, or any- 
where. Nay, if there were a university at Timbuctoo, they 
would try to remodel our Oxford and Cambridge after its 
fashion. They have at home the "raw material," know- 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 441 

ledge; for what is knowledge but a raw material? But 
they must go and see what articles are made of it — how 
finely spun it is in Prussia, Holland, Switzerland, Bavaria, 
and Saxony. 

You remember what I told you of Messrs Kay and Laing, 
how they set out upon their travels, not in search of the 
picturesque, nor of health, nor of sausages, as some do, nor 
to learn languages, nor improve themselves, but to bring 
home an educational exquisite. Mr Kay's knowledge-manu- 
factured article is in all respects a perfect model ; showing 
what can be done by the favourite process, for his specimen 
was of the lowest, most unpromising class — the peasant — 
who, having been dropt into the educational mill, is turned 
out perfected in the student's ultimate accomplishment — the 
fiddle. "He can fiddle;" Gantabs and Oxonians cannot; 
neither "little go" round nor "great go" round of either 
of our University wheels will do that for them. ! Mr Kay, 
Mr Kay, how longing you are to try your experiments upon 
our very raw peasant materials ; but when you take up the 
instrument, have a care not to strain the pegs too high, for 
our clumsy-limbed peasants will cut such a high figure in 
the dancing to it as will make all the German gravity you 
have acquired explode in laughter. The ragged school — 
our lowest for your experiment — if you exhibit before one of 
them, will be in a tumultuous uproar. Mr Laing's model- 
man, introduced by a musical instrument lowered a peg or 
two, might even be played with effect at a " Beggars' 
Opera." The model is exactly of the same class and species, 
but the romantic airs are quite taken out of him ; and we 
see the nature of the many " useful jobs " the accomplished 
students can turn both their hands and legs to — such as 
running after coaches, sturdy, ■ surly, importunate beggars by 
the road-side : such, at least, is the account Mr Laing gives 
of them. In these accomplishments, together with that of 



442 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

the fiddle, they very far outdo any of our university students ; 
who are so ill educated, that as yet (what the Germanising 
late commission will produce remains to be seen) — as yet 
they can do nothing infra dig. ; " dig they cannot — to beg 
they are ashamed." And long may they continue so, Euse- 
bius. This " ultima ratio," the fiddle, is so unexpected and 
amusing, that I wish you in imagination awhile to play 
upon it yourself. There have been great men in the world, 
who even boasted that they could not play upon it. I think 
Dr Johnson wished it. impossible. You remember what the 
Athenian Themistocles said. He could not fiddle, but he 
could make a small town a great city. Nero, who could play 
upon the fiddle, did so when Eome was burning, and so 
reduced a great city to a heap of ruins. Do you not think 
these sayings and doings of Themistocles and Nero might 
furnish good matter for the roving Government inspectors to 
exercise their ingenuity upon ? — for novelty is pleasing ; 
they seem to rack their brains to find it. If their experienced 
wits can supply answers, so much the better for them ; if 
not, they may be sure none of their scholars can, so they 
may have it all their own way, either by explanation or. 
silence. Questions may be put thus : " State in particulars 
what more Themistocles would have done had he been able 
to play, like Paganini, on a single string ? " Question 2d, 
" State what must have been the tune which Nero played, 
and write it in score." 

Mr Laing's student-picture is not quite so charming as 
Mr Kay's, but it has the look of " after nature." He was a 
more acute obseiwer than the enthusiast Kay, and had a 
glimpse of the dog's collar through the long hairs at the 
nape of the neck. You will say of this traveller, Mr Laing, 
what Goldsmith put into the mouth of Lofty in the Good- 
natured Man : "I now begin to find that the man who first 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 443 

invented the art of speaking truth was a much more cunning 
fellow than I thought him." 

! Eusebius, Eusebius — the bewilderment of learning, 
the confusion of knowledges too many, building themselves 
up a Babel in the mind, leaving no room for a man's own 
proper and individual thought to move in ! You may see it 
in his distracted eyes, which bespeak one who had lost him- 
self, and was looking for him. He is the man of better sense 
who forgets half, than he who remembers all he has known. 
An overburthened understanding is like an overburthened 
vessel — to sail safely in the stormy sea of life, half the cargo 
must be thrown overboard. It were well to have a lumber 
or refuse-basket for the understanding ; and to write on the 
frontisterium of one's study — " Eemember to forget." Better 
that half mankind, nay the greater part, should preserve their 
mother- wit uncontaminated, and in humble literary innocence. 
Literature has its crimes, and the Evil Eye of mischief looks 
over its perpetrations. Truly is it said, " Wisdom entereth 
not into the malicious mind, and science without conscience 
is the ruin of the soul." You and I have been acquainted 
with both learned and knowing, whom we have been glad to 
cut. In the vexation of already knowing too much, and 
being required to know how much more, could you not, Euse- 
bius, willingly strip yourself knowledge -bare, and take up 
contentedly with Poor Richard's Almanac, or the Shepherd's 
Calendar, and become, as the clown says in As You Like It, 
" a natural philosopher," satisfied to know, " the more one 
sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that wants 
money, means, and content, is without three good friends. 
That the property of rain is to wet and fire to burn. That 
good pasture makes fat sheep ; and that a great cause of the 
night is the lack of the sun. That he that hath learned no 
wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or 



444 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

comes of a very dull kindred." For my own part, Eusebius, 
to lighten my head of one item of learning's lumber, and too 
many are pressing into it, I throw off, as a sacrifice to the 
simplicity recommended, what Sallusthas said in better Latin 
than I wish to remember : " Parum mihi placeant ea3 literse 
quae ad virtutem doctoribus nihil profuerant ; " which, if you 
will let me presume to be a better translator than yourself, 
means, that if Virtue had the picking up of Learning's books, 
she would throw the greater part into the fire as useless 
lumber. 

The legs of the table at which T am writing creak. It 
cannot be with the weight of any sense I have written this 
last half-hour — Creaking still. Is it mesmerism ? — spirit- 
rapping ? Which leg are you in, Eusebius ? Oh, yes, I 
understand you — I can interpret. What a wonderful age is 
this nineteenth century; that you whom I left, or knew to be 
a few minutes ago in the far-off forest philosophising with the 
clown, should now be rapping me over the knuckles for mak- 
ing fool's play of arguments. yes, I understand what you 
are saying. You remind me that, having personified civilisa- 
tion in my first letter — a Chinese lady, with a porcelain com- 
plexion, and adorned with millinery, such as could only come 
from a " Celestial Empire " — I abandon my own most deli- 
cate emblem, and am off to a wild forest to philosophise with 
a clown and a fool ; and giving up the feminine influence, 
find Civilisation in " shepherd weeds." Get into the other 
leg awhile, Eusebius; you are creaking and croaking a little 
too near ; and listen awhile — you are mistaken, my worthy 
friend. I have not abandoned the principle of feminine influ- 
ence ; for, while you were talking your simplicities to Corin 
and the clown, I was holding delicious and most sensible 
banter with Kosalind and Celia in a pleasant forest glade, far 
out of your sight ; and the while I heard a voice behind a 
tree, which I verity believe to have been Shakespeare's, 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 445 

whispering thus — " I do admire your Celestial Beauty above 
all things, and have put her into a play I am writing — that 
is, rapping out, across the Atlantic ; which, if I can at all 
trust the amanuensis and advertiser, will appear as soon as 
the other world electro-magnetic printing-press shall be com- 
pleted ; in the meanwhile, take my Rosalind and Celia, who, 
in conjunction with your Porcelain Beauty, will be Three 
Graces, and you will make your argument perfect — feminine 
influence — civilisation." If you mean to say, Eusebius, that 
you never would have believed Shakespeare could have 
spoken such ill language, put that down as the fault of the 
interpreter, who, knowing more perhaps of other people's 
languages, especially dead ones, than Shakespeare, to his 
honour, fame, and happiness ever knew, is no longer master 
of that pure uncontaminated mother- tongue. You are silent. 
It was but a short dream, Eusebius. I am awake. If I 
have had a little too much fooling, it was by way of recrea- 
tion, for I have now very serious matter to attend to. 

Notice of the Report of the Census on "religious worship" 
may not be omitted. It is the most blamable portion of the 
whole laborious work ; for no dependence whatever can be 
placed upon it. It is so inaccurate as to incur a charge of 
not being impartial. Who is in fault? Not the census-maker 
alone, but the Government. A religious Census is a serious 
affair, and should be restricted, with much previous fore- 
thought. The Government are not qualified to issue Divi- 
nity lectures, nor complete histories of creeds. But if they 
will assume the unnecessary duty, it would at least be decent 
to know something of the qualifications of their compiler — 
his knowledge, judgment, and experience with regard to 
these important subjects. The work should be done deliber- 
ately, carefully; but what says the writer ? "I am conscious 
that, although in illustration of the Tables I have been com- 
pelled, in order to secure an early publication, to shorten 



446 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

roy remarks, they have, upon the whole, been too extended ; 
and I cannot expect that, in the unavoidable haste with which 
they have been written, by one previously unacquainted with the 
subject, they are free from error. But I do indulge a hope 
that they are free from bias." I give the writer credit for 
believing this freedom from bias, but an ignorance is shown 
in his belief; for no man can be free from a religious bias ; 
and if there be, that man is not fit to write upon religion. 
But it appears that the Government had selected one previ- 
ously unacquainted with the subject; and that what should have 
required much time and deliberation was accomplished in 
haste. The subject taken in hand was quite beyond the pur- 
pose of a Census. It is the old fault, the Trojan war ab ovo 
— commencing from the egg, a work which, if carried out at 
length in the spirit of its beginning, would make of itself a 
very large library. That being impossible, the heterogeneous 
result is an indigestible digest of religions and creeds, which 
the Government, for all purposes of a Census, had no busi- 
ness to require, and which no one man could be qualified to 
make. Parliament has thought it worth while to employ a 
great part of a session upon Assumption of Title Bills. The 
labour could only be justified by a previous assumption, an 
acknowledgment of the Church of England as the Established 
Church, of which the Queen and her Government are sup- 
posed to be members, and preservers, by oath, of her rights 
and dignities. The Church of England, and the Constitu- 
tion of England, however tolerant both happily are — and 
may they ever be so — acknowledge but one Church — the 
Holy Catholic or Universal Church. This acknowledgment 
is embodied in the authorised formularies of the Church. 
The Constitution does not declare that there shall be no 
other religions, tolerating dissent to the utmost. A form of 
religion differing from her own is also established in one por- 
tion of the dominions ; but not so as in any degree to nullify 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 447 

the title of the Church of England as a branch of the Church 
Catholic in England. Our Queen Anne was so sensitive upon 
this subject, that she spoke of dissenters as that portion of 
her subjects who had " the misfortune not to be members of 
the Church of England." In our day no such expression 
would be used. I only mean to show, by what I have said, 
that in making a Eeport to be laid before the Queen, the 
Government, and the People, legitimate titles and distinc- 
tions should be preserved ; and I should draw this inference, 
that a writer of a Census who errs in this respect is not a 
member of the Church of England ; or, if he thinks himself 
one, must be mistaken. The report before me is not for all 
the Queen's dominions, but for " England and Wales," with- 
in which limits one would suppose a member of the Church of 
England would not enumerate "Protestant Churches." But the 
classifier, to act up to his profession of freedom from "bias" 
treats all opinions and sects with equal indifference, or, it may 
rather be said, with equal respect, and lifts up and dignifies 
the disgusting subscribers to the blasphemy of Joe Smith, the 
Mormonite, with a place among " other Christian Churches." 
Taking the very respectable accounts of the multitudes of 
creeds, with the equally respectable classification, it would 
not be very unfair to imagine them to have been made pur- 
posely for a people in search of a religion ; and that the com- 
piler, as a general agent for all bodies, would show the 
honesty and impartiality of his agency by an equal and fair 
display of all their commodities, without presuming to indi- 
cate a preference or bias. More than this, the pedlar's pack 
is ready to exhibit the quilts and cradle of the mad Johanna, 
and advertise that there are yet four insane congregations of 
Southcottians, into any of which the looker-out for a faith 
may enroll himself or herself. I cannot believe, Eusebius, 
that he would willingly, knowingly, omit any sect ; that he 
has not noticed, therefore, the Princeites and the Agapemone, 



448 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

I put down, not as of any evil intention, or of disrespect to 
them, but merely to that carelessness and negligence which 
have caused so many omissions and inaccuracies. And this 
is the more surprising, as his very lengthy and flattering 
account of the Mormonites would have led him, one would 
have supposed, to as full a narrative of so congenial a sect. 
For it does not appear that any degree of insanity, or worse, 
is to annul the title of faithful believers to be a " Christian 
Church IV I would not wish to speak too lightly ; but, in 
truth, in this report the area of religion seems to be treated 
as that of a fair, in which any set of actors may set up a 
booth, and claim from the Queen's printer the advantage of 
advertising bills for general distribution. You remember, 
Eusebius, Sir Godfrey Kneller's dream ; being, as he pro- 
fessed, of no particular religion, he was desired to make a 
free choice. 

But why was this enumeration and this history of and 
inquiry into creeds made at all ? Why proceeded in, when, 
as I before stated with regard to school inquiry, it was 
ascertained there could be no legal demand for truthful 
replies ? If the Church of England is made to appear to an 
untruthful disadvantage, it is hard to withhold a suspicion 
that there has been a bias somewhere or other. Places of 
worship, of due solemnity, and so-called places of worship, 
where congregations keep on their hats and smoke ; and 
places fraudulently self-styled places of worship, whose 
object is to put down all worship — are jumbled together as 
" Christian Churches, " and so make a numerical array 
against the Church of England. No matter what they are, 
their ticket- titles, with pretty nearly the same " probatum 
est" of Census, are tossed into his authority bag, well 
shaken, to be thrown out for the people to pick up as a 
boon and privilege of equal value, and of equal Government 
sanction. 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 449 

It having been shown that the religious returns depended 
only upon "an intimation" of voluntary liability — that 
replies were not compulsory — it may easily be imagined 
that those sects which mostly desired to magnify their 
numerical importance, would take advantage of this and 
other intimations which the circular agency of dissenting 
officials might industriously distribute. It would appear that 
there were actually, on the given day, circulating congrega- 
tions. The registered numbers must be fallacious. But 
our ingenious Census has not exhausted his contrivances. 
He has invented another test. Forgetting the little appro- 
bation of those who " make long prayers," he has set up a 
religious hour-glass as a surer test than numbers, and by 
this little simple engine converts the religious zeal of the 
Church of England, which stood as the major, into the 
minor, in comparison with the Dissenting bodies, page clvi. 
" Thus, while the table just presented shows that the Church 
of England has attending its three services more persons 
than all other bodies put together (3,733,474 against 
3,487,558), it appears from the table on page clxxxii., that 
the number of attendances performed by the 3,733,474 is 
actually less than the number performed by the 3,487,558 ; 
the former having attended 5,292,551 times, while the latter 
attended 5,603,515 times. Or if we assume that a service 
on an average occupies an hour and three quarters, it would 
seem that the 3,773,474 Churchmen devoted 9,261,962 hours 
to religious worship (or two hours and a half each), while 
the 3,487,558 Dissenters devoted 9,806,151 hours to a simi- 
lar duty (or two hours and three quarters each)." A very 
ridiculously amusing idea this — a newly-invented religious 
clock, set up by a Government Census in a conspicuous 
situation, warranted accurately to strike the quarters ; or 
an improvement, perhaps, having a double-striking action, 
with the two figures on each side, like St Dunstan's — one to 

2 F 



450 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

represent the Church-of-England man, the other the Dis- 
senter, striking their variances, and looking so savage at 
each other that it is lucky the clock's orbit is betwixt 'em. 
But I have a notion, Eusebius, that our amusing census- 
mechanician is a bit of a plagiarist in this ; for I remember 
reading something like it of a Praying machine in common 
use somewhere in Tartary, into which certain written prayers 
are put. It is then turned round, like a grinding organ, at 
a trifling cost, by the hand of the officiating priest — the 
supposed praying person or penitent receiving perfect satis- 
faction without giving himself the least trouble in the world. 
This is a hint in somebody's travels, it may be, from which 
Gulliver may greatly improve his religious timepiece. 

But as Homer nods occasionally, without loss of dignity, 
so does our Gulliver; and when he wakes, he finds his 
watch has run down, and, like other common folk, he sets it 
by conjecture, or by the sun. The sun ! By what sun ? 
That which hardly glimmers a light through murky fog, 
seen from metropolitan official window ? or by church clock 
or tabernacle clock ; or by an average of time, extracted 
from ingenious tabular calculations, of which the minute- 
hands are impatient ? It is by conjecture. Thus we find, 
page cli. : " An estimate for defective returns " — " also in- 
cluding estimates for omissions." What have statistics to 
do with defectives, and estimates for omissions ? Whose 
privilege are they ? By whom bequeathed ? And who is the 
residuary legatee, with the right to do what he pleases with 
his own ? 

These " defective returns," these omissions, very fatal as 
they are to census matters, have an ugly look, from this 
strange circumstance, that there is a secret to be kept, under 
promise offered by, or required from, the Secretary of State 
concerning all particulars regarding these Beturns. This is 
very strange indeed. First, the investigation is not founded 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 451 

on Act of Parliament, but the personal requisition of the 
Secretary of State ; secondly, the Secretary of State, thus 
going far beyond the Parliamentary liberty, is under pro- 
mise of secresy to the census makers and enumerators. If 
required of him, did he not wonder what could be the why 
or wherefore ? The secrets, whatever they were, are kept. 
And what is the result ? A very strange one : an admission, 
on the part of Government, that the Eeturns are not fair and 
just — an admission made in the House of Lords. 

You may think, Eusebius, that this statement requires 
graver authority than this assertion of mine. I will give you 
the gravest, beyond the gravity of a judge, — the gravity of 
a bishop. Here is an extract from the charge of the Bishop 
of Gloucester and Bristol, delivered in August and Septem- 
ber last, — 

" My attention has been drawn to an enumeration of churches 
and places of dissenting worship, and to the alleged attendance 
at each respective place, as taken on the 30th March 1851, called 
the Census Sunday. A digested summary of that religious census 
has been put forth in the present year, in a cheap and popular 
form, with a great apparatus of tables, accompanied by an his- 
torical and statistical discussion. This publication, which has 
been widely circulated, is probably known to most of my reverend 
brethren. It comprises a great store of interesting and curious 
matter, illustrated by ingenious calculations, and is well adapted 
to amuse and inform (query misinform) the reader. But, in the 
main purport for which the enumeration was intended, a repre- 
sentation of the relative numbers of Churchmen and Dissenters, 
it must be regarded as a failure, and as leading only to erroneous 
conclusions. The investigation ■ itself not having been founded 
on the Act of Parliament for taking the census, but upon the 
personal requisition of a Secretary of State, many clergymen de- 
clined to answer the questions or assist such an inquiry respecting 
their congregations, deeming it useless and unauthorised curiosity ; 
while, among the sectarians, there appears to have been excite- 
ment and activity to procure the largest possible confluence of 
persons in the meeting-houses on that day. From these and 
other causes a return was procured highly favourable to the dis- 



452 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

senting numbers as compared with those of the Church. Such 
flagrant instances were found of the erroneous deductions drawn 
from this exposition, that the subject was brought before the 
House of Lords, in the late session, by two of my right reverend 
brethren, and the authorities were moved for upon which the re- 
port had been grounded. Hereupon it was admitted, on the part 
of the Government, that a strong case for complaint had been 
made out, and that the numbers of the Church had been under- 
stated ; but they declined producing the grounds of the statement 
on the score of good faith : a promise having, it seems, been given 
by the Secretary of State, that all the particulars of the returns 
should not be published — a promise which naturally led to care- 
lessness, and, perhaps in some cases, fiction. Here the matter 
must rest. Henceforward nobody can appeal to the Religions 
Census of 1851 as a document of authority." 

You see, Eusebius, there is a new working-day, a " Census 
Sunday," taken out of the fifty-two on which shops are 
closed and business stayed, as clays (transferred from the 
Jewish Sabbath) on which " Thou shalt do no manner of 
work" — set up by authority of the Secretary of State ; made 
not only a day of business for an army of spies and enume- 
rators, but a day of general jealousy and temptation to fraud. 
Highly beneficial this to Christian communities ! You have 
read the declaration of a political party-maxim — that it 
should be the Whig policy to court the Dissenters — and here 
you see it secretly put in practice under a public pretence. 

In the House of Lords the Bishop of Oxford had made the 
same complaint as to the unauthorised character of the Cen- 
sus. " It was beyond the power vested in the Secretary of 
State to send out these papers." I make some extracts from 
his speech : — 

" For this reason, the numbers given in the official documents, 
as purporting to belong to the Church of England, were oftentimes 
very loosely put together, and considerably less than such numbers 
really were. In his own diocese, for instance, where he had caused 
careful inquiries to be made, the numbers who attended one service 
on Sunday, were found, upon calculation, to be about 117,421, 



CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 453 

while, in the official returns of the Registrar-General, they were 
stated only at 98,410. But the greatest misstatements in the 
reports occurred, not from our own numbers being lessened, but 
from the number of the Dissenters, of nearly all denominations, 
being greatly exaggerated and set forth." 

ain : — 

" He would read to the House a brief statement upon the 
subject, which he had taken the trouble to procure, which was 
authenticated, and could be depended upon in every way, and 
which comprised, in fact, short extracts from various written re- 
ports forwarded to him. From these reports it appeared that, at 
the times when the numbers were being taken, the Dissenters 
filled their places of worship on purpose to swell the return of 
their numbers ; that many persons attended in these Dissenting 
chapels in the evening who attended Church in the morning and 
afternoon ; that most, if not all, the Dissenters of the neighbour- 
ing parishes always attended the particular parish where the 
Census was being taken, so that they were in reality counted two 
or three times over ; that special sermons were preached in the 
Dissenting chapels to induce larger congregations to assemble ; 
that the same persons often attended places of worship belonging 
to different Dissenting denominations ; that the unfavourable state 
of the weather during the time the Census was being taken kept 
many people from Church ; that many of the chapels mentioned 
in the report could not hold the number of the persons returned 
as going to them, unless such persons were very small children ; 
that all the children were taken from the charity schools, and made 
to count in the returns ; that the Dissenters, from the first, enter- 
tained an opinion that the returns were to be looked upon as a 
struggle between the Churchmen and Dissenters ; that our own 
clergy, for various reasons, were careless about the matter, and 
conscientiously objected to the returns being taken in the manner 
proposed, and so did not assist in taking them ; that many of the 
most important returns were in reality taken by persons hostile to 
the Church, and desirous rather to depreciate its importance than 
exemplify the real amount of its influence." ...'." He 
would refer, as an instance of misstatement, to the return of the 
Registrar-General as to the Roman Catholics of Liverpool, from 
which it appeared that the numbers attending Catholic chapels were 
27,660, whereas it was a well-known fact that all the sittings in 
their places of worship in this town did not amount to more than 
8006. Another instance might also be mentioned in reference to 



454 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

the parish of St Giles, where the sittings for Roman Catholics 
were only 460, and yet the number attending them was inserted 
in the Census as 3000. He had heard, also, of a case in which 
the number of persons attending divine service during the day at 
one of our churches was inserted as 236, whereas, at one service 
alone, the clergyman of the place knew that 550 had attended ; 
and, upon his remonstrating on the subject, the numbers were 
re-examined, and found to amount, including both morning and 
afternoon services, to upwards of 800." 

I must give you, Eusebius, the authority of another 
Bishop, — 

" The Bishop of St David's concurred in most of the observa- 
tions of the right reverend prelate who had just sat down, and 
from the instances which had come under his notice, believed it 
would have been better if the clergy of the Church of England 
had refused to give the returns in the manner they were required 
todo ; because, by giving them, they were in fact countenancing 
and encouraging the improper returns that had been made. He 
knew the feeling of the great body of the clergy was, that the 
" Religious Census," as it was called, was a mere farce, and could 
not be said, by any means, to represent a fair estimate of what 
really was the number of the different denominations. He held 
in his hand letters from several persons, corroborative of much 
that the right reverend prelate had stated ; and in one of these 
letters it was said, that a dissenting chapel was returned in the 
report as having in it, on the day of the return, 2000 persons ; 
whereas, according to the Dissenters' own statement, the largest 
number it could hold was 1200 persons. From the various facts 
which had been laid before him, and in which he had every reason 
to place confidence, there were many cases in which the return of 
the Dissenters exceeded the number of the population of the place 
they were supposed to be living in ; and, in other cases, there 
was no doubt that the Dissenters had been counted over and over 
again. It was also known that the Dissenting Sunday Schools 
had clubbed together to take it in turn to attend each others' 

places of worship at different times of the day." 

" We ought not to have trusted these matters to the persons that 
we did, many of whom were interested in putting forward exagge- 
rated reports of the particular sects to which they belonged, and 
he firmly believed that no future returns would accomplish the 
object which their lordships had in view — namely, that of getting 






CIVILISATION.' — THE CENSUS. 455 

a true report of the number of all religious denominations, unless 
they were made upon a very different principle from the present 
returns." 

A pretty exposure is this, Eusebius. The Census, then, 
is not only an impertinence, but a mischief. I have given 
you very grave authorities — they settle the case. The 
Census is condemned. It is nailed down to the counter of 
fair dealing, like a false coin, bearing the sovereign image, 
which never came from the sovereign mint — no, nor the Par- 
liamentary. 

I must stay my hand. It will never do to tack on, as a 
supplement, the worsted fringe of my poor style to the rich 
texture of Episcopal orations. I know you laugh at my 
hypocrisy. You are right. I don't believe- a word about the 
poverty of style. Mother- wit can swagger when it will : nor 
will I be thankless of its gift, to disparage its power of 
rising. Do you not know it is occasionally light for a pur- 
pose ? Bishops may not deal with ridicule ; but it is a legi- 
timate weapon for such as we are, who may wear a comic 
mask, and yet tell grave truths — 

" Interdum tamen et vocem comoedia tollit, 
Iratusque Chremes tumido delitigat ore." 

You and I are old enough, to be privileged, when provoked, 
to put on the angry Chremes. But I will not swell out just 
now after these Episcopal and Parliamentary orations, remem- 
bering the fable — The Frogs and the Ox. The motley style, 
neither all too serious nor too gay, does its work. The clown 
and the judge are characters in the same play, and needful 
to the plot — often the first the most amusing. A light 
manner may hold severe matter. It is a world of light 
readers ; you are one, and will not object to this letter on 
that account. The famous Dr Prideaux, when he took a copy 
of his Connexion of the Old and New Testament to the pub- 



456 CIVILISATION. — THE CENSUS. 

lisher, had it returned to him with the remark, that it was a 
dry subject, and he (the publisher) could not venture on it 
unless it could be enlivened with a little humour. Let this 
be an excuse for mine, and no damage will be done to the 
sobriety of the sense that is under it. 

Vive Valeque. 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

[MARCH 1855.] 

What will the reader expect from such a title as this ? The 
Beggar's Legacy ! What can a beggar have to leave ? It is 
a subject for a novel, or a play. Tragedy, or comedy ! It 
may convey a grave moral — a beggar's curse, or a beggar's 
blessing. A reader who thus speculates, is admitting all I 
require for the matter of my subject — that a beggar is an 
awful personage. In spite of his position, in the world and 
not of it, he is more than an arbiter, if he deals out his beni- 
sons or maledictions as he wills, and they are regarded or 
feared. There is a superstition in his favour, and he knows 
it. The unbelieving authorities have tried to put him 
down, but they cannot ; he is more potent than the Pope, for 
he maintains his title, and his ground — and none laugh at 
his anathema. Is not a beggar awful? Is there not a 
mystery in him, that he should be above the world or below 
it ; and above it by being below it ? He is on firm ground 
who can fall no lower ; the low becomes his height — he takes 
it as his own, his choice, more fixed than a king's throne. 
He is neither the Stoic nor the Cynic, a little more of the 
Epicurean ; but lie is an epitome, a personification of every 
philosophy. He, and he alone, can perfectly endure, despise, 
and enjoy. It is all very well for you, reader, to complain 



458 THE beggar's legacy. 

that the beggar molests you in the street or at your door — 
but, notwithstanding, you fear to give him an ill word. 
Think not of any individual wretched figure that may have 
crossed your sight in the day — but think of the beggar in 
the abstract. TVith all the rest of the world you have some- 
thing in common ; you have ties with them, in affection, or 
in business — the beggar alone stands out of the circle of 
your experiences — you have nothing, and no one to whom, 
or with whom, to compare him — and this your ignorance 
respecting him makes a kind of reverence for him. He is 
not one to know, but to speculate upon ; and therefore, as I 
said, a mystery, a myth to you. And what is he with 
regard to yourself? If you are superstitious, you can have 
his benediction for a farthing ; you can therefore separate 
yourself from the fear of him. He will not go to law with 
you, you are sure of it. Though twenty attorneys pass 
between you and him, he will not engage one against you ; 
he will not even give you in false charge to a policeman. 
From whom on earth can you expect such privilege of 
exemption ? You see in him a great Innocent — you begin 
to respect him. His veiy rags assume a dignity — they also 
demand your wonder. Where does he get them ? are they 
hand- worked ; or is he clad as are the lilies of the field? 
And think not the beggar's garb without its glory. Go to a 
painter's studio, and see how they who have acquired taste, 
and know what beauty is, in all its shapes and colours, 
appreciate the many-patched, picturesque drapery. And 
think you there is no meaning in those patches ? they are 
the hieroglyphic language of the profession. Knowing this, 
they will be in your sight venerable as the untranslatable 
arrow-headed characters. Imagine that they contain records 
of the race from the beginning — that they show the pedi- 
grees of dynasties and beggar kings. A true beggar looks 
antiquity. In his own person, he holds the past and present. 



THE BEGGAR S LEGACY. 459 

Did you ever know one who looked like a fool ? It is said 
that " Wisdom crieth in the streets, and no man regardeth," 
— so busy are the emmet-population, all going their own 
care-making ways ; the beggar alone has time at his com- 
mand, and leisure, and he hath shaken hands with Wisdom 
in the streets. Knowledge is in his look, with a conscious- 
ness of a mastery over it, and a contempt of it. Wise, and 
above the wise, he is unmoved by hopes and fears. He is 
ever cap in hand, with a sublime humility and independence, 
not like the courtier, who, bareheaded, makes a leg for 
favours in expectation, and is bound to present slavery. He 
promotes a tone of charity, by seeking charity— and thus 
improves the benevolence of mankind. He is ever open- 
handed ; but with a modesty, leaves the greater part of the 
blessing to his betters, and accepts the inferior of receiving. 
Eemembering that it is more blessed to give than to receive, 
he yields with a submission that ennobles him. Yet will he 
raise himself in honour of his profession. In that, he would 
style himself the Solicitor-General, nor would a Prohibition- 
of-Title-bill disturb him ; no one doubts his claim, and least 
of all himself. His revenue comes to him without trouble ; 
all the world are his tenants, as it were, and make no 
deductions for repairs. He never hears complaints of 
failing crops, and a murrain among the cattle. Every man 
is his contributor ; thus is he the universal creditor, and 
no man's debtor. He is not obliged to keep books. He 
disdains the intricacies of arithmetic ; delivers in no ac- 
counts in a bankruptcy court. He troubles not himself 
to inquire the price of stocks — the only stocks that could 
mar his fortune have fallen never to rise again. His 
merchandise is all profit, and no loss. Thieves affect him 
not ; he may sing an he like in robbers' presence — " Cantabit 
vacuus coram latrone Viator." Pie is a philanthropist from 
experience, for he sees the best part of society — those who 



460 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

give. His mind and temper are kept sweet, feeding on 
charitable and kind looks. He is not disgusted with hope 
deferred — the law's delays. He is out of .the reach of dis- 
honesty, subject to no petty frauds. Iimumerable are his 
privileges ; he may be at a feast, a merry-making, a wed- 
ding — and is not obliged to put on black at a funeral. 
"Where is most joy, there is his rent-day. He glories in his 
own supremacy, and is never called upon to subscribe to 
any other. He may hold all heresies with impunity ; no 
archbishop will put him into his Court of Arches. His 
opinions never will be questioned by privy-council ; magis- 
tral e s will not fine him; and as to imprisonment — what is 
it to him but a temporary retirement to a boarding-house, 
after the fatigue of ubiquitous travel ? When he quits it, 
he need not pay for his board. He leads a merry life 
among his chosen Mends, and does not always wear his 
professional gravity. He disappears, nobody knows how or 
where, with the mystery of (Edipus. Xo undertaker ever 
looks him in the face, as calculating his exit and custom. 
He is above the vanity of tombstone, and carved angels' 
heads. His memory will never be disgraced by mutilated 
monument. Xo politic zeal will ever collect his dust to 
scatter it to the four winds in contempt ; for he never will 
lose his kingdom, which is in his own mind. He saith with 
the old song — 

•• My mind to me a kingdom is.'' 

Xo disparaging biographies will be written of him. Doc- 
tors' Commons have no eye upon him for probate to his will. 
He is in the " Long Annuities." for his annuities are as long 
as he lives — with this difference, that they dwindle not, but 
rise in value, as he wanes. He makes food, and healthy 
subsistence, out of complaints and infinnities ; and yet need 
not of necessity have them. He may put them on and off, 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 461 

when lie pleases : thus he lives merrily upon sorrows which 
he does not feel. He gratifies the world by his little decep- 
tions ; for the world loves to be deceived, and he loves to be 
accommodating to it. But that he despises the vanity of a 
Herald's College, he might take out beggars' arms, and 
choose as his motto, " Qui vult decepi decipiatur." He is 
ubiquitous, yet at home everywhere ; yet has he his own 
peculiar haunts, which no labyrinthine thread can discover. 
Thither, if he meet Misfortune in the streets, will he take her, 
and make her cheerful. He frequents not low pot-houses, but 
his own clubs — every one of which is "Merrymen's Hall." 
Nor does he lack befitting fare ; and is an honest customer, 
a prompt payer, caring not to have his name in other men's 
books. He even has his luxuries, will have a squeeze of 
lemon to his veal and lamb. Yet is he no profligate to waste 
his substance in riotous living, and then, when he cannot, dig, 
profess to be ashamed to beg. Him he despises, as throw- 
ing disparagement on the honourable profession of beggary. 
The beggar's half-hour's boast over an after-supper fire 
and a cordial, may put his pride in better humour with 
itself, as having historic foundation of longer date, and of 
continuance too, than that of kings, emperors, or the Pope 
himself. It should seem that real dignity rises not up, but 
descends — kings have held the stirrup of the Pope, but the 
Pope hath washed the beggar's feet — cardinals too. Thus 
are all the cardinal virtues poured out in a flood at his feet. 
The grandest and most beautiful ladies doing that same 
service to this day, pay homage to the beggar. Thus, He 
who would make himself the greatest on earth, hath for his 
greater title still, that He is " Servus Servorum." Lazarus 
has more friends than Dives, and happier in having none to 
envy him, and contrive his ' ruin. He who would strip a 
beggar, shall come in for more fleas than halfpence. His 
person is as sacred as the king's from touch. If there be a 



462 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

kind of divinity that " hedge tb," as Shakespeare says, the 

royal person — the beggar is as well hedged — for none like 

to come too near his person. Eoyal robes are not more 

exempted from contact than beggars' rags ; they float in the 

air about his person, his castle, as significantly as the regal 

standard about the unapproachable tower. He has his lody- 

guard. Kings have made themselves beggars, beggars have 

never been so unwise as to make themselves kings. It was 

a royal humour which said 

" Sometimes I am a king, 
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar." 

High-flown thoughts are these, it will be said: truly so; 
but nevertheless not too high for the ingenuity of pride to 
entertain : and it is natural and befitting that every mind 
should nourish itself into some sleekness, with the costless 
food, of self-exaltation. The beggar has best leisure for it ; 
pleasant visions bubble in his nightly cap, and exhilarate 
his brain to exuberant fancies, the more welcome for their 
rollicking comedy, their apparent absurdity. The laugh that 
is in them outmocks their unreality ; they are indulgences 
that beget their like, and crowd the beggar's mind, as a 
theatre for right pleasant vagaries to play in — the higher to 
the lower, and lower to the higher; — thought naturally 
rushes rather to the antipodes, plunges perpendicularly, and 
embraces its opposite ; and so dreams and realities shift 
their places and names, and for their special hour, kings are 
beggars, and beggars kings. Am I lifting the beggar too 
high ? ISTo — he is one of degree ; many bear the name, of 
too low a character to be worthy of it : such bring it into 
disrepute, and, in opinion, rob the profession of its dignity. 
There be who talk of Eobin Hood, who never shot from his 
bow. Let me be supposed to speak of the higher beggar — 
the man who by natural disposition is born to it, or by mis- 
fortunes has his whole mind overthrown into it, and takes 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 463 

up vitally his second nature. There is the poetical beggar, 
the imaginative idle — idle as to all the irksome businesses of 
life, as impossible to him, as would be his idle vagrancy to 
the gifted with handicraft. He cannot go in the tramroad 
of life ; speculative and erratic, he has wandering feet, and — 
there lies the secret — a wandering brain. The real original 
beggar, the beggar of dignity, the poetical beggar, poetry in 
himself and making poetical, is, and ever was, a trifle crazy. 
This craziness is his charm, his abandon, his license, of 
which none can rob him ; it exaggerates his wit, enlivens 
his humanities, begets his independence, and makes his 
humility his greatness. These are seldom seen nowadays — 
a strange civilisation has made inroads upon the race. Edie 
Ochiltree was one of them ; and he perhaps whom Goldsmith 
speaks of as the " long-remember'd " ■ — whom the good 
parson did not disdain to receive as his guest — 

" The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast," 

and he sure to be initiated into the fraternity — 

" The ruin'd spendthrift, now, no longer proud, 
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd." 

A little insanity is like the investiture of an unknown, 
and therefore awful wisdom ; nothing of the outward can 
make it ridiculous. It ever claims a respect. The barber's 
basin for Mambrino's helmet raised no laugh on the counte- 
nance of Don Quixote ; nor did the most extravagant incidents 
damage the gentleman within him. It was so ; the old 
wandering beggar was of a wandering mind, and it was he 
that had the virtues of his profession, and a right to its 
privileges. 

I have one at this moment in my recollection, who took it 
upon him, as a second nature, from a mind unhinged by 



464 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

misfortune. He had been once a man of some substance ; 
farmed his own little estate and rented other lands. He 
might have been a churchwarden or overseer of the parish, 
before I knew it. It needs not to say by what circumstances 
troubles came upon him ; some were hard to bear — too hard 
for the mind, though not for the bodily constitution. In his 
distresses, his wife died ; his two daughters turned out ill. 
He was an old man when I knew him ; he had been utterly 
ruined. His home gone — his very recollection of a home, a 
madness to be avoided. He paid his parish a visit in his 
wanderings, every two or three years ; and, as suddenly as 
he came, departed. What was singular in him, was his 
intellectual superiority (notwithstanding this touch of in- 
sanity which kindly obliterated or blunted the sense of his 
miseries) over those of his former grade. He was well- 
informed upon most subjects, could converse in good lan- 
guage ; his very flightiness clothed itself in ingenious argu- 
ment. He would have been the amusing guest of Goldsmith's 
good Vicar. It was probable that misery had made him put 
up with Misery's acquaintances. Barring a slight suspicion 
of this, he was to be preferred to many a sounder man, for a 
talk with in a green lane. If it be true that all crazed 
people have a monomania, I never could discover his. He 
seemed to be under a general unsettlement of mind. The 
mirror was jarred, multiplied images, and reflected them 
awry; the rapidity of his ideas, and the odd turns they 
would take, were surprising. No idea was of permanence. 
Now, stand apart, and look at the man as a picture — con- 
template him in his capabilities. What could you do with 
him, or for him — what could he do for himself? There was 
no possibility of any fixedness in him. Employment he 
could have none, he was too restless for any. I doubt if he 
could know anything continuously for a quarter of an hour. 
He would have ignored the work which but a few minutes 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 465 

before, he had begun, not from any wilfulness, but a perpetual 
wandering in his fevered brain. Can he be imagined to be 
anything but a beggar? Such wandering minds, I said, 
make wandering feet. They must be erratic. Confine such 
persons in a Union -house — they would become raving 
maniacs ; any one home would revivify the idea of the home 
lost. Their only self- security is in ubiquity. The beggar 
of this true original caste confines himself not to one town. 
Wander — wander ever, that he must do. Some have a 
wider, some a narrower range ; but it is of perpetual change. 
To send him back to his parish as a vagrant, considering 
his case, what his parish has been to him, and he to his 
parish, is the worst cruelty. It is chaining him to his many 
miseries, from which his instinct to wander is his only escape. 
Here I must leave my old acquaintance, as he has long since 
left the world, and all its and his own miseries ; but, in 
reasoning upon his and similar cases, the thought occurs, 
whether the wandering disposition that so many people 
possess, having at the same time no particular object in 
pursuit — whether this disposition to be off from place to 
place, be not in itself, however slight, something akin to 
insanity. In all professed travellers, I have always fancied 
something strange — an unsettled manner. I mean travellers 
for the mere love of travel, and not in a pursuit. They 
appear to be persons whose social instincts are damaged, set 
out of their course, eccentric. Every one must have in his 
eye examples of this erratic turn. Their very look bespeaks 
distracted, not abstracted ideas — as of men in whose brains 
there is a whirl. I have just met with an amusing account 
of one of these, of a time long gone by.* Coryat, the author 
of Crudities, called the English Fakir, was a wanderer of this 
description. He made the tour of Europe, it would appear, 

* Vide Athenaeum, Jan. 1855 — Review of Anderson's English in Western 
India. 

2 G 



466 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

with no other object than to boast that he had walked 1975 
miles in one pair of shoes ; which he caused to be hung up 
in the church of his native village of Odcomb in Somerset- 
shire, an offering and memorial. Craziness ever exaggerates, 
magnifying short truths with long impossibilities. Thus 
this wonderful pair of shoes, which could only be legitimately 
hung up beside Cinderella's slipper, was an evident delusion. 
It was a silly fancy that formed itself into an adage — the 
" waiting for dead men's shoes." Dead men and their shoes 
nowadays, at least as modern trade goes, drop off together, 
and have but one wear and tear (or the cordwainers have 
sadly degenerated.) A whole "month's wear" is much to 
boast of. 

" A little month ere yet these shoes were old." 

Upper leather and under leather crack together like the 
crazy one's wits. So was it, perhaps, with poor Tom Coryat 
and his shoes — both were wearing out fast, when he fancied 
them everlasting. " Tom desired to know and be known, so 
as to obtain contemporary and posthumous fame. Unre- 
strained by poverty, he again started with a determination 
of traversing Asia, limiting his expenses to twopence a-day, 
which he expected to procure by begging. His designs 
were vaster than his actual labours ; for he planned not only 
a journey through Tartary and China, but also a visit to the 
court of Prester John, in Ethiopia." Poor Tom Coryat went 
twisting and whirling round the world like a top whipped by 
Vanity and Poverty ; and, excepting the impulse, as insen- 
sible as a top to the whipping — which he must oftentimes 
have well deserved. On one occasion, hearing from a mosque 
the Moolah's usual cry, " There is no God but God, and 
Mahomet is his prophet," he ascended a high building, and 
began shouting in the same tongue that Mahomet was an im- 
postor. The leniency shown to lunatics saved him from the 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 467 

punishment due to his impertinence. His vanity was once 
sorely mortified ; for, being told that King James had in- 
quired about him, he eagerly asked what his majesty had 
said. He was answered that, " after hearing that Tom was 
well, all that the monarch said was, ' Is that fool yet 
living ? ' " 

Even these half-crazed travellers are not, however, all 
Tom Coryats. But it may be questioned if the irresistible 
wandering propensity does not originate in an extravagant 
whim, indicating something unsound. 

But, to return to my beggars. They are wanderers to be 
placed in quite another category. The true beggar is never 
a subject for ridicule. He who is above fortune, against 
whom she hath run her tilt in vain, and still found heart- 
whole, — " in quern manca ruit semper Fortuna," is not one 
to be put aside by the world's laugh. In all ages hath he 
been excepted from contempt. However unlikely he may 
seem, he has the benefit of the thought that " men have en- 
tertained angels unawares." Great saints, say their legends, 
have appeared in beggar's garb. Even in our days, our 
children are taught to revere them ; awful is the warning, 
given for the purpose, in homely rhyme by Doctor Watts : — 

" When children in their wanton play, 
Served old Elisha so ; 
And bid the prophet go his way, 
Go up, thou bald-head, go." 

The Godlike Ulysses disguises as a beggar. Penelope 
rebukes Telemachus that the beggar is not duly received as 
a guest. And who is it who dresses this favoured of the 
gods, Ulysses, as a beggar ? — the Goddess of Wisdom her- 
self. Homer shows how ancient is beggars' pedigree ; and 
how the exact features of the race have been handed down 
to this our day : — 



I 



468 THE BEGGARS LEGACY. 

" So saying, the Goddess touch' d him with a wand. 
At once o'er all his agile limbs she parch'd 
The polish'd skin ; she wither' d to the root 
His wavy locks, and clothed him with the hide 
Deform' d of wrinkled age ; she charged with rheums 
His eyes, before so vivid, and a cloak 
And kirtle gave him, tatter' d both and foul, 
And smutch'd with smoke ; then casting over all 
A huge old hairless deer-skin, with a staff 
She fill'd his shrivell'd hand, and gave him, last, 
A wallet patch' d all over, and that, strung 
With twisted tackle, dangled at his side." 

Cowper's Horn. Od. xiii. 

Homer, however, who is ever true to nature, notices a fact 
notorious to this day, that, though, beggars are revered by 
men, dogs have an antipathy to them. Ulysses, arrived at 
the Swineherd's, would have- been torn to pieces by the 
dogs, had not he known the beggar's trick, — 

" He, well advised, 
Shrank to his hams, and cast his staff afar." 

On which incident Plutarch remarks, that the generosity 
of the mastiff will not allow him to seize a person who by 
his posture and manner makes it plain that he has no design 
to resist. But Eumaeus also comes to his aid, and calls off 
the dogs. This antipathy of the clogs to the beggars is a 
curious instinct. Is it indicative of that early social state 
when dogs and beggars were alike admitted at feasts, and 
began the quarrel for that which was thrown to them, and 
which has been handed down in their generations ? It is 
plain from this, passage in Homer, that the disguise cast 
no disgrace on the person, no ridicule, for wisdom directed 
it. The license allowed to the profession in those days, is 
shown in the less respectable Iras, who, out of envy of a 
rival, picks a quarrel with Ulysses, and is well served out 
for it. 

One character of the tribe is seen in the description — 






THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 469 

" Now came a public mendicant, a man 

Accustom' d seeking alms, to roam the streets 
Of Ithaca ; one never sated yet 
With food or drink ; yet muscle had he none, 
Or force, though tall, and of gigantic size." 

Who ever saw beggar fight with beggar I It is remarkable 
that they never quarrel, at least to the world's observation. 
Why is this ? Without doubt they have their own courts — 
their own laws — their own " King of the Beggars." But 
in this instance from Homer, Irus begins his ferocious attack 
of words at once against Ulysses. This does not argue igno- 
rance of the laws of the tribe in Homer ; on the contrary, it 
shows he knew them well. Ulysses was disguised in the 
garb of the fraternity, but was not one of their guild. He 
could not give the free-masonry sign, and was at once con- 
sidered by Irus as an unlicensed interloper. If critics ask, 
how came it that Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom, did not 
inform him of the sign, the answer is plain — she represents 
wisdom as prudent conduct, not as knowledge ; it was no 
part of her deified dignity to know beggars' laws and symbols. 
As to the respect paid to beggars, Telemachus meets his 
father, then disguised, at the cottage of Euma3us, and though 
knowing him not, enjoins hospitality. And it is to mark the 
extreme insolence of the suitors, that from them, and them 
alone, is violence offered to the beggar-guest ; and be it ob- 
served that this violence was not at the commencement, but 
after a hospitable reception, and certainly not without much 
provocation from Ulysses himself. And this washing the 
beggars' feet — where did it originate ? It was an old cus- 
tom, it should seem — for Penelope commands not one of the 
meanest of her slaves to perform that office, but her favourite 
Euryclea, the honoured nurse. of her husband. Ulysses, in 
his rebuke to Melantho, the paramour of Eurymachus, who 
had thrown the stool at him, confirms what I have before 
said as to how beggars are made — 



470 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

" Why these invectives, mistress — and thy wrath, 

Why thus pursues it me ? For that my face 

Shines not with oil ? For that my garb is mean ? 

For that I beg ? To my distress impute 

These crimes ; all mendicants commit the same. 

I also lived a rich possessor once 

Of such a stately mansion, and have given 

To numerous wanderers, whencesoe'er they came, 

All that they needed ; I was also served 

By many, and enjoy'd whate'er denotes 

The envied owner opulent and blest. 

But Jove (for such his pleasure was) reduced 

My much to nought." 

It should seem to be here recognised, that the beggar is 
one who had seen better days ; and who being thus reduced, 
either from the incapacity of a somewhat wandering brain to 
work, or from its being the less degradation, takes to the 
wandering profession — seeks hospitality at every home, 
having none, 

" Claims kindred there, and has his claims allow' d." 

Far back in antiquity is the beggars' pedigree — if it hath 
a poor emblazonment, it is because it borroweth not of that 
pride which came after, to enrich that which was before it. 
Even in such guise did Elijah appear to the widow of Zare- 
phath ; and as a blessing upon her entertainment of him with 
all her poor means, " the barrel of meal wasted not, nor did 
the cruse of oil fail." 

The fraternity, as if conscious of some antique prerogative 
and power, if poor in substance (at least professedly so) are 
rich in blessings. They pour them out as from an inexhaust- 
ible stock — like Charity, returning far more than she receives, 
and with an earnestness that speaks honesty and faith that 
their words are cheques upon the eternal Bank of Charity, 
that will never break when all things else are broken — even 
broken promises, broken hearts, and a broken-up world. The 
politeness of nations has invented compliments for each ; but 



THE BEGGAKS LEGACY. 471 

how jejune are they, and how few — " May you live a thousand 
years," "May your shadow never grow less;" — the shadow 
wants the body of individual life — the thousand years, a cor- 
ruptible impossibility, and ludicrous ; but the beggar's bless- 
ing is of spontaneous application to the person addressed. 
It has no set form. The lineaments of every man's face are 
to the experienced of the fraternity a history of every one's 
wants and inmost desires. There is a prayer poured out for 
you, that touches the marrow of your instant thoughts, — and 
if the deliverer of it chance to be blind, you are lost in wonder 
at his strange insight and knowledge — you are ashamed of 
your small payment for so large a good, and often come to re- 
peat your offering. Many thus are daily, weekly, and monthly 
contributors. Such donations come to be considered as rents, 
for payment of which the beggar thinks he has a right to 
distrain, in a way of his own. I know an instance. There 
is a misshapen, bandy-legged, ill-tempered, andworse-natured- 
looking beggar, blind, and led by a dog ; an elderly gentle- 
man of my acquaintance had been in the habit of bestowing 
charity upon him until it reached the periodical payment of 
sixpence a-week. It so happened that the gentleman went 
away for a few weeks. On his return he met his pensioner, 
and gave him sixpence ; it was unthankfully received, with 
a muttering of extreme displeasure — " Oh, you oweme three- 
and-sixpence besides." The best commonwealths have some 
bad members, yet have they strict laws to keep them in order. 
The reader may find in that curious book, The Life of Guz- 
man de Alfarache, a pretty full statement of " The Laws and 
Ordinances that are inviolably to be observed amongst Beggars. 1 ' 
That they have their points of honour the following will 
show : " Item, We will and command, that no man dare to 
play the impostor, or commit any grosse villanie, as to steale 
household stuffe, or help to convey it away, or exchange it 
for other, or to untyle houses, or strip children of their cloathes, 



472 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY". 

or to commit any the like base action, upon paine of being 
excluded from our brotherhood, and put out of our incorpora- 
tion, and to be remitted over to the secular power." In what 
sense the word u impostor" is used, may be a question of as 
difficult solution as the " Four Points " that have been puz- 
zling the statesmen of Europe. But, as in the same page 
with the above passage may be found a " Licence and Permit" 
for any beggar to rent certain children to the amount of four, 
it is evident that such impostures are not prohibited ; and it 
may be presumed all of a like degree of falsehood are within 
the privileges of the profession. 

Perhaps the law is, that so great a part of mankind having 
a natural or acquired habit and willingness to be deceived, 
the limited impostor is but doing by them as they would wish 
to be done by. And it may have been observed, that beg- 
gars' lies are so even, or, as Fuller says, " no one swelling 
improbability being above the rest, that one might fairly 
conclude that they are framed after some rule, within which 
any extravagant genius for lying must be restrained, which 
might otherwise bring an evil reputation upon the profession." 
Fuller, in using the word improbability, took its measure by 
the rule of his own common sense and understanding. The 
beggar's improbabilities were regulated by the law of 
credulity, which would admit such dimensions as would make 
it difficult for any to exceed the standard measure of the 
brotherhood. The real difficulty in that case would be to 
come up to it ; so that the very evenness hath the dignity of 
magnitude. The fact is, a very probable tale would be 
passed by as commonplace, and the credulous by nature, ever 
looking out for the improbable, would rather hold it to be a 
poor insignificant invention. The brotherhood have a better 
knowledge of mankind. Who ever heard that those who 
invented the " swelling improbabilities" which Fuller repre- 
hended, were ashamed of them ? Though they knew that 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 473 

sensible people must be as well aware of the falsities as 
themselves who made them — what cared they? Sensible 
people were not those whom they wanted to catch. And is 
it not just so now ? even worse. For people's credulity 
reaches to the absurdity of belief, that they receive letters 
from the " Dead-letter Office" of the other world — an extrava- 
gance of folly on the one hand, and imposture on the other, 
that never was, and scarcely can be exceeded. If people 
have been found in numbers, within this last year, to believe 
that a leg of a table moved prophetically, will such persons 
be curious to untie the bandages which concealed a leg which 
pretends to be non-existent ? The fraternity have great con- 
fidence, and think they may innocently deceive those who 
love to be deceived ; they are seldom mistaken. But I 
remember once an impostor of this kind being taken by sur- 
prise. I had the account from the gentleman who will shortly 
appear to have been the recipient of the " Beggar's Legacy," 
which the reader is perhaps impatient to know something 
about. At the corner of a street not far from his own door, 
he saw a wretched man upon whose breast was pinned a 
paper, " Deaf and Dumb." This excited his compassion, and 
he was about to drop his charity into the provided receptacle, 
when a friend happened to come up. " Here is a poor man 
deaf and dumb," said the first. The newly-arrived said, 
addressing the beggar, " Deaf and dumb ! I don't believe a 
word of it — show me your tongue." The impostor was taken 
off his guard, and instantly put out his tongue. Such cases 
are, however, very rare. I recollect the woman who acted so 
well the part of Caraboo, who pretended she had leaped into 
the sea from an unknown ship, on board which those who 
professed to understand her ready gibberish asserted she had 
been decoyed and captured from some unknown shores. This 
woman was a petted wonder : and another impostor, who was 
not taken in, as some of the learned and wealthy were, seeing 



474 THE BEGGAR S LEGACY. 

something was to be made out of the common credulity, pre- 
tended tie knew the language, and fabricated a story of this 
queen of some unknown island. The two lived in clover 
some months. I saw the woman in the midst of her credu- 
lous patrons and patronesses, and said before her that I never 
saw a more English countenance, and that I conjectured her 
to have come from Devonshire. I well remember she looked 
confused ; but all voices were against me at once, as if I had 
committed an offence and insult. How do we know that the 
brotherhood are not moved by a moral sense, in preferring 
their professional deceptions, which hurt no one, to the 
impostures of any " grosse villanie." They have therefore 
enacted : — 

" Item, We will and command that no beggar give consent, or 
suffer his children to serve, to be bound prentice to any trade, or 
to waite upon any man, whom he shall acknowledge as his master. 
For their gains will be little and their labour much ; and therein 
they shall greatly offend, by not following the steps of their fore- 
fathers, and running a course quite contrary to that good way 
wherein they have been borne and bred." 

Nor let it be supposed that they bring up their children in 
idleness. There is many a laborious profession which bears 
unjustly an idle and vagrant name. It is said of the elder 
Vestris that, when he took leave of the stage, he brought in 
his son before the spectators, and, having recommended him 
to the honour of public patronage, thus addressed him : " Pre- 
serve the dignity of your profession ; " and, having made such 
a bow as no other could make, he retired amidst an uproar of 
applause. Throughout all their rules the brotherhood, as 
exhibited in the Life of Guzman de Alfarache, have constantly 
in view this their dignity. When they enact, according to 
the wise law, to " bring up a child in the way he should go," 
they thus express their sense of their professional import- 
ance, — 






THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 475 

" Item, Our will and pleasure is, that every beggar when he 
shall be of full age (three years after twelve being fully complete 
and ended), having legally and worthily laboured in that course 
of life, and attained to the true arte of this our free and noble 
profession, he be held, taken, knowne, and understood (be it any 
such manner of person or persons) to have fulfilled the law, and 
comply' d with the statute : notwithstanding that two other yeeres, 
to gaine experience and to learne how to drive the fish into the 
net, have alwaies to this very day and present hour beene thought 
very necessarie and expedient ; and ever after to be held as a 
graduate that hath performed his exercise and taken degree 
amongst us. And having thus profest himself, and made proofe 
of his learning and manners, we farther will and command, that 
he have, hold, and enjoy all the liberties, priviledges, and exemp- 
tions granted by us under our great seale ; but with this condition, 
that he neither may, nor at any time doe forsake our service, and 
that hee show his obedience unto us by observing our lawes and 
statutes, and by submitting himself to our censure, in case he shall 
offend them." 

Henceforth let no Cantab nor Oxonian affect the Dictator- 
ship of Literature as " a graduate," seeing that a beggar's 
effigies may look as bold in the frontispiece of such a title. 
One might be led to suppose by Mr Kay's flattering account 
of foreign education, which has been formerly noticed, that 
the universities of Prussia and some other places had bor- 
rowed their laws and principles from the beggars' brother- 
hood, for he also gives "proofe of their learning and manners." 
And by the further account given by another traveller in 
search after educational knowledge and accomplishments, 
these Grerman graduates, having, as Mr Kay says, " no bad 
manners, no gross poverty or suffering," but every one being 
" comfortable and happy, well educated, and polite," do, 
nevertheless, appear to emulate the beggar brotherhood in 
learning, manners, and practices of " driving fish into the 
net ;" for, equally scorning work of trade, they are soon very 
sturdy beggars, and take to the road. So that, after all, this 
high education is not quite so new, an account thereof being 



476 



THE BEGGAR S LEGACY. 



so largely given in this Life of Guzman de Alfarache, the 
translation of which is now before me, published so long ago 
as 1623, for Edward Blount, London. 

It should seem also that this beggars' commonwealth had 
attained some of the protective principles of civilisation, for 
there is a special enactment of patents to inventors, from the 
knowing of which, governments may yet benefit the subjects 
of the realm. There is such dignified sovereign authority in 
the style of the enactment, and such forethought and careful 
provision for the public good, that I am tempted to make the 
further quotation, — 

" Item, We will and command that no man discover the secrets 
and mysteries of our trade, nor divulge and publish them abroad, 
save only to those that are professors of the said arte. And he 
that shall invent or find out any new tricke or cunning device for 
the common good shall be bound to manifest the same to the in- 
corporation of beggars, to the end that it may be understood and 
known of all, for as much as such good things as these are to be 
accounted as common, there being no prohibition to the contrarie ; 
and more especially not to be concealed from those that are our 
country-men and naturals of the same kingdome ; but for the 
better incouraging of others, and that notice may be taken of our 
good government, we give priviledge and plenary power to the first 
inventor and author thereof, that for the space of one whole and 
complete yeere, he make his best benefit of the first impression, 
not suffering or permitting any, without his especial and particular 
licence, to use or exercise the same, upon paine of our heavy 
displeasure." 

There are excellent maxims and advices for behaviour 
among them, showing a thorough knowledge of human 
nature, — 

" When thou shalt find thyself well used, see thou repair thither 
dayly ; for as devotion shall abound, so shall thy stocke increase ; 
but see that thou never depart from his doore till thou hast prayed 
for his friends that are deceased, and to intreat of God that he 
will be pleased to blesse and prosper him in all his actions." 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 477 



Again — 



" Answere evil language with milde words, and to rough speech 
apply soft tearmes." . " And he that will draw money 

out of another man's purse must rather begge than brawle, crave 
than curse, pray than blaspheme ; for a gentle calfe sucks milk 
from a strange teat as well as from his damm's." 

Keally, more may be said in favour of these poor beggars 
than people in an ill-judged contempt credit. If they follow 
these maxims, their laws and ordinances, they are the true 
" Peace Societies," and perhaps far more honest ; and far 
wiser, for they meddle not in other people's affairs, and pre- 
tend not to a kind of patriotism which, carried out, tends 
only to benefit their private affairs. 

I have often noticed the addresses of beggars. How well 
they know with what flattery to bait the hook : " Good sir," 
or " kind sir," is the utmost for a man ; but no woman of 
decent appearance was ever addressed otherwise than as 
" My lady." 

I was accosted once oddly, with an indignant repudiation 
of his profession, by one who thought from my manner and 
wave of the hand that I held it in no repute. " Sir," said 
he, "I hope you do not think I am going to beg " — drawing 
himself quite up — then making, in a gentlemanly smiling 
manner, a singular request, " will you be so good as to lend 
me a shilling?" What observation and acute reason is 
shown in the following : My old friend C, the most kind- 
hearted of men, was in the habit for some years of passing 
over Westminster Bridge most days in the week. The same 
old beggar begged of him every day, but he never gave. 
At length my good old friend, weary of the importunity, 
stopped, and said to the man, " Why do you always beg of 
me ? — you know I pass you ' every day and never give you 
anything." " That's very true," replied the old beggar ; 



478 THE BEGGAR S LEGACY. 

"but you will at last." He was right — lie was instantly 
fee'd, and, I suspect, more, became an annuitant. 

There is a story of a beggar's legacy (not mine, I come 
not to that yet), which is amusing, and shows great shrewd- 
ness. The first part of it is, however, cruel enough. A 
Genoese beggar married in Florence ; his wife brought him 
a son. This son he maimed in his tender age when the joints 
are pliable, and distorted him to such a degree that he grew 
up to be the most deformed of men.* " Happy is the son," 
saith the proverb, "whose father goeth to the devil." But it 
was a strange mode of making happy, which only qualified 
him for the wealth to be obtained by beggary. Be that, 
however, as it may, the poor cripple grew rich ; and on his 
deathbed sent for a confessor and a notary. Believing that 
the ugly casket, his body, yet contained a precious jewel, his 
soul, he was most desirous to provide for its future and eternal 
welfare, by the satisfaction of certain masses. He knew not 
whom to trust, for he durst not declare the amount of his 
worldly substance. At length he devised thus : — that the 
poor ass on which he had ridden should be sold to pay for 
his burial, but he bequeathed the pack-saddle to the Grand 
Duke (of Florence), as his lord and master. Upon the beg- 
gar's death, the Grand Duke, knowing that the old cripple 
had the reputation of a discreet and shrewd person, thought 
there must be something mysterious in such a strange legacy 
— had the pack-saddle sent to him, which, on being ripped 
open, disclosed a vast quantity of gold coins, to the astonish- 
ment of all present. The Duke, as a good and wise man, and 
not wishing to enjoy the dubious and undignified advantage 
of being a beggar's beneficial heir, caused the will to be 
regularly confirmed, and the sums employed for the good of 

* I have been shocked to learn that this practice of maiming children is by 
no means uncommon at the present day. What punishment can be too severe 
upon proof of such atrocity ? 






THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 479 

the poor beggar's soul's health. And this was probably what 
the mendicant foresaw, and thus cunningly provided for. 

Living or dying, nobody grudges the beggar's earnings. 
Let him leave what he will behind him, it was not wrung out 
of necessities, and paid him with tears. There are none to 
demand it back in justice, with execrations on his memory. 
It came from no exactions, but from willing hands, that felt 
pleasant and comfortable after the giving. He took as one 
might take water out of the large sea, and know that not a 
vessel would be wrecked on any shore for the lack of it. The 
beggar's little deceptions have been no man's ruin, but many 
a one's pleasure. There is, at the last hour, not the bitter- 
ness of remorse on account of them. Weigh them, they are 
not very heavy. Take promiscuously from the deceptions of 
society — weigh them one after another with the poor beggar's 
little impostures, and make a juster estimate, you proud poli- 
tician, you hypocrite, calling yourself honest and highly 
respectable. No, none of you may hold the scales, but let 
other hands put in your frauds, deceptions, your excuses, your 
palliations, your misrepresentations, your suppressions of 
truths, your plottings, your promises, and you, demagogues, 
your patriotism — in with them, one after the other, weigh 
against the poor beggar — soon your consciences will be chop- 
fallen. 

Cleanest are the consciences of those in this world who 
never buy nor sell for any gain — -their weight will sink no 
ship — any captain may take them aboard as a safe freight. 
The true, the honest beggar, who wanders because he cannot 
help it, from an innocent helpless insanity, is light-hearted. 
If his conscience takes up a burr here, or a burr there, the 
burrs are but light things, and only stick when you try to tear 
them away ; but, as a wind brings them, a wind takes them 
off, and many are the gales of good and ill fortune in a long 
journey that carry them to and fro. What the beggar's 



THE BEGGAR 

poor conscience may catch, in one place, it drops in another, 
and becomes purified through the large atmosphere of much 
travel. It lacks the weight and body of any wickedness. 
Nor is it of a murky volume ; it becomes fine and attenuated, 
and mixes kindly and comfortably with the smoke of his 
every-night's pipe. The poor harmless beggar, why should 
he be persecuted in his calling? Give not an ill meaning to 
the word vagrant. Punish the thief, but see him not in every 
beggar; for many a beggar has been made one in the despera- 
tion of a hard fortune, whose crime is nothing more than a 
wandering brain. He may be like a goodly tree, sound at 
heart, but stricken at the top, and that by Heaven's lightning. 
Eead the " Excellent balade of Charity," and care not who 
wrote it, whether a poor boy or a poor priest. I will only 
quote the last passage — a poor beggar in a storm and a good 
" Limitonre." 

" Once more the skie was blacke, the thunder rolde ; 

Faste reynayinge o'er the plaine, a prieste was seene, 

Ne dight full proude, ne buttoned up in golde ; 

His cope and jape were graie, and eke were clene : 

A Limitoure he was of order seene ; 

And from the pathway side, then turned hee, 
Where the pore aimer lay binethe the holmen tree. 

" An alines, Sir Priest ! the droppynge pilgrim sayde, 

For sweet Seyncte Marie and your order sake. 

The Limitovrre then loosen'd his pouche threade, 

And did thereoute a groate of silver take, 

The mister pilgrim dyd for halline shake, 

Here take this silver, it maie eathe thy care ; 
We are Goddes stewards all, nete of oure owne we bare. 

" But ah ! unhaillie pilgrim, lerne of me, 

Scathe anie give a rentrolle to theer Lorde. 

Here take my semecope, thou art bare, I see ; 

'Tis thyne : The Seynctes will give me mie rewarde. 

He left the pilgrim, and his waie aborde, 

Virgynne and hallie Seyncte, who sitte yn gloare, 
Or give the mittee will, or give the gode man power." 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 481 

Kings and heroes have not monopolised song. Poets, and 
good poets too, have lifted the beggar out of the mire. And 
there have been times when civil misfortune has sent many 
a one wandering, not undeserving the poet's celebration. If 
he has not been renowned in epic, he hath taken inheritance 
of the ballad, which will be longer in remembrance, and 
shorter in the reading. Often king and beggar meet in plea- 
sant company. There is the song of " King Cophetua and the 
beggar-maid," quoted in Romeo and Juliet. Mercutio says — 

" Her (Venus' s) purblind son and heir, 
Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so true 
When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid." 

James V. of Scotland, it is said, wrote the ballad " The 
Gaberlunzie Man," as an adventure of his own, so disguised — 

" The pauky aulde Carle cam ovir the lee, 
Wi' mony good-eens and days to mee," &c. 

Eight pleasant is the romantic ballad — " The Blind Beg- 
gar's Daughter of Bednall Green," who married a knight, 
when the blind old beggar dropped angell for angell as her 
dowry, and soon beggared the knight's means — ■ 

" With that an angell he cast on the ground, 
And dropped in angells full three thousand pound ; 
And oftentimes it was proved most plaine, 
For the gentlemen's one the beggar dropt twaine. 

" So that the place wherein they did sitt 
With gold was covered every whitt. 
The gentlemen, then, having dropt all their store, 
Say'd, Beggar, hold, for wee have no more. 

" Thou has fulfilled thy promise aright ; 
Then, marry my girl, quoth he to the knight ; 
And here, added hee, I will throw you downe 
A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne." 

The blind beggar turns out in the sequel to be one of the De 
Montforts, whose family were dispersed and ruined after the 

2 H 



482 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

battle of Evesham.* He was found by a baron's daughter 
wounded on the field; married her, and "pretty Bessie" is 
the daughter, now the bride of the ballad. 

* The battle of Evesham has been celebrated for making many of high 
degree low enough — beggars. But beggars in days of civil trouble are apt to 
become something more. If Robin Hood and his men, those "bold out- 
laws," were of any such age of civil turbulence, the}' had the laws and 
ordinances among themselves, perhaps of a more gentle endurance than the 
larger authority of the realm ; and by practices thereto according, did they 
become favourites with the people, as are their memories still in song, — 

"The songs to savage virtue dear 

That won of yore the public ear, 

Ere polity sedate and sage 

Had quench'd the fire of feudal age." — Warton. 
Those laws and ordinances, so civil were they, might well have been bor- 
rowed from those long established of the elder brotherhood of beggars. They 
may be seen in the ballad — 

" Robin he loved our dear Ladye, 
For dread of deadly sin, 
For her sake would he no company harm 
That any woman was in. 

" Well shall we do, quoth Robin Hood, 
Little care for that take thou — 
But look that ye harm no husbandman 
That tilleth with his plough. 

Nor shall ye any good yeoman harm 

That cometh by greenwood tree ; 
Nor any good knight, nor any good squire, 

That would a good fellow be." 

But as to proud and lazy abbots, archbishops, and bishops, the free band 
constituted themselves " Ecclesiastical Commissioners," and treated them as 
sternly, if not with so legitimate a title, and perhaps as much against right, 
as do our present Ecclesiastical Commissioners. 

" But bishops and proud archbishops, 
Them ye shall beat and bind ; 
And for the high-sheriff of Nottingham, 
Ye shall ever hold him in mind." 

The history of Robin Hood is more cui'ious than is generally supposed. It 
has been traced out with patience, ingenuity, research, and much accuracy, 
.by Mr Gutch, whose Robin Hood is a valuable addition to our literature. 






THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 483 

" Se non e vero e ben trovato," say the Italians ; it is 
"as good as true," say the English; why not improve our 
idiom to, it is both true and better than true — as is all 
poetry ; for it is truth of outward fact and inward feeling 
combined. And there is some such nature also in the inci- 
dents of the ballad. There is the outer fortixne that brings 
down the great to the dust of beggary, making the mighty 
lowly ; and there is the inner fortune that the unsubdued 
mind keeps ever working out its nobility, and bringing it 
forth again to the blaze of the world, and made poetically 
shining in beauty and happiness. 

Why should I be ashamed in these my old years to make 
a confession ? It is not unwisely said— 

"■ Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, 
The power of beauty I remember yet." 

When but a stripling, shooting up to the height of incipient 
manhood, and in a fancied exuberance of heart and freedom, 
like a presumptuous cauliflower, overtopping the common 
greenness in the garden of youth, ready to encounter any 
dragon of romance, and then fall lowly at the foot of any 
beauty — -just at the short, happy, and happily short period, 
when angels feminine, thick as sunbeams, cross the vision of 
slender young men, though no " Master Slender," in that 
serious passion — even then did I once behold a "pretty 
Bessie," a blind beggar's daughter. Keader, let me raise no 
idle expectation — you will neither have tale nor novel. 
Vanity and falsehood may combine to tempt me — but in 
vain. I answer with the prosaic Knife-grinder — 

" Story, God bless you ! I have none to tell, sir," 

yet shall you have the whole truth. I never spoke to her j 
but there was this permanence in the vision, that, whenever I 
read the ballad of the " Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednall 



484 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

Green " — that beggar-maid was the ideal of " Pretty Bessie. 
And now at these years, 

" Fuge suspicari, 
Cujus . . . trepidavit aetas 
Claudere lustrum." 

No need is there to court the lustra at this old time of day. 
I have a perfect recollection of person and feature of that 
beggar's daughter. They were a pair that might have been 
historical. Venerable was the father — 

" His reverend lockes 

In comelye curls did wave ; 

And on his aged temples grewe 

The blossoms of the grave." 

Neither of them were in tatters and unclean. The daughter, 
perhaps between sixteen and seventeen — of a remarkably 
modest countenance, sufficiently well-looking, but her beauty 
was in her gentle, quiet, modest, thoughtful expression. 
She looked a history of a young life. Her dress was always 
simple, and always clean, so becoming, that none other 
would have so well suited her repose of character. She 
never begged by word. There was a repelling dignity 
about her that was her defence. The brute would have 
stood arrested by an awe like Cymon and the Clown, who 
never dreamed of love, ere he could have uttered words 
unseemly to her. Her purity was greatest in its lowliness. 
I saw her in the streets by the side of her blind father, for 
about half a year — and always with interest — and many 
others expressed equal admiration at her visible innocence 
and gentility. I say visible, for I never saw any one speak 
to her. She was a novelty then, and is so still to the imagi- 
nation. She is best described by Horace, when he commends 
the passion of his friend for the lowly handmaiden — 

" Nescias an te generum beati 
Phyllidis flavse decorent parentes. 
Regium certi genus : et Penates 
Mteret iniquos. 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY-. 485 

" Crede non illam tibi de scelesta 
Plebe delectam : neque sic fidelem, 
Sic lucro aversam potuisse nasci. 
Matre pudenda." 

In remembrance of the long-lost, may I not somewhat freely 
translate, with adaptation to this early vision — 

Take to thy arms thy beggar bride, 
Nor seek her parentage to hide, 
That known, would never stain thy pride. 
Her gentle birth 

Serenely shines in all her face ; 
Her look bespeaks a princely race — 
Such oft do fortunes stern abase 
Down to the earth. 

She never came, so pure a child — 
That filial heart, that aspect mild — 
From parents mean, and low, and wild. 
Her queenly charms 

Some queenly mother's nursing gave. 
She is so loving, and so grave, 
In want and woe so sweetly brave. 
Spread wide thine arms. 

Poetry, twin-sister of charity, loves to take the beggar by 
the hand ; leads him into a quiet place, hears his tale, and 
reiterates it in immortal verse. Hence is he made the hero 
of many an old ballad. And the poetry of painting glorifies 
equally the royal robes and beggars' rags. Old blind Beli- 
sarius is twice a conqueror, by the painter's art. Great as 
Victor, and greater in the absolutism of his poverty. See 
him as Vandyke has painted him — his dignity receiving 
reverence with his pence. The "Date obolum Belisario " 
has immortalised him, equally with the historic page of his 
battle -glories. 

Look at that group of mendicants, painted by II Beato 
Angelico da Fiesole, and published in a print by the Arundel 
Society. The subject is " St Laurence distributing Alms." 



486 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

The saint stands in the centre — the mendicants in various 
attitudes, expressive of their cases, on each side. He is 
giving to one, at his feet, whose back is turned to the spec- 
tator, — the poor wretch has lost his lower limbs. There are 
two figures among them of remarkable beauty ; the one is 
lame, the other blind ; both are most graceful, and yet most 
natural. Their faces beam with a spiritual gentilezza, the 
individualised grace of a religious thankfulness. Lame and 
blind though they are, their very imperfections seem under- 
going a transition to the sanctity of the "just made perfect/' 
The lame mendicant holds out his hand to receive. The 
blind (and so blind in his whole person) holds his hand only 
as to give thanks and bless, with a countenance all purity 
and faith. Eeader, study this print. True lovers of art 
have been ready of late to quarrel with the Arundel Society 
on account of some of the childishnesses of art which they 
have brought out. This one print helps greatly to redeem 
their character. 

Having thus reached the very saintliness, and well-nigh 
apotheosis of beggary, I have brought my narrative to the 
danger of a descent from such height to the common level of 
the profession, that it may be hard to rise from it to any 
decent pleasuring of the reader ; who hath yet to learn, and 
is perhaps somewhat impatient, the more homely account of 
the Beggar's Legacy, which I purposed at the commence- 
ment to tell. Yet herein I do but in a manner figure the 
beggar's fortune (a little lower indeed) ; for many a one is 
first lifted to the summit of wealth and honour, only to be 
cast down to the dust of poverty, like poor Belisarius. And 
it has answered the purpose, if therein has been seen that in 
the very abjectness of the lowest fortune there may be an 
indwelling dignity of patience, of devotion, and the grace of 
many virtues, which rags may not defile. Was it not in the 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 487 

utter abjectness of his fortune — in his ruin, his poverty, his 
exile, a wanderer to strangers' homes for support and rest to 
his weary body — that the great spirit of Dante even then 
raised itself upon its inner throne, and in the majesty and 
authority of his sublime and melancholy virtue, passed awful 
sentences that peopled his Inferno ? — and then, awhile, his 
severity passing away, dissolved in a dream of love and 
beauty, did he refresh the wounded gentleness of his nature, 
and poured forth strains of tenderness ; and the gates of his 
Paradiso flew open to him, that the blessed, and more loved 
than all, his own Beatrice, might come — and he saw that 
they came to hear. The beggared Dante thus speaks of his 
condition : " Wandering over every part to which this our 
language extends, I have gone about like a mendicant, show- 
ing, against my will, the wound with which fortune has 
smitten me, and which is often imputed to his ill-deserving 
on whom it is inflicted. I have, indeed, been a vessel without 
sail, and without steerage, carried about to divers ports, 
and roads, and shores, by the dry wind that springs out of 
sad poverty, and have appeared before the eyes of many, 
who, perhaps, from some report that had reached them, had 
imagined me of a different form ; in whose sight not only my 
person was disparaged, but every action of mine became of 
less value, as well already performed, as those which yet 
remained for me to attempt."* 

Poor Dante, or rich Dante, which shall be his title ? The 
wealth of Florence could not have purchased his genius ; but 
its spite could beggar his fortunes. The Florentines, his 
countrymen, who beggared him, and exiled him, became 
themselves continual and unavailing beggars for his bones 
and dust. And what pride on earth was there so great that 
would not have thought itself glorified by being inscribed in 

* Gary's Life of Dante. 






488 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

the most insignificant corner of his monument ? * I wonder 
if there be not somewhere a larger and fuller Saint's Calendar 
than that which hath here on earth been published and-pro- 
claimed. It is hoped some poor beggars may not have been 
forgotten in it, who have had very poor funerals, and 
scarcely a beggarly procession. 

" It seems, if I had lived to make a will, and bequeathed 
so much legacy as would purchase some preacher a neat cas- 
sock, I should have died in as good estate and assurance for 
my soul as the best gentleman in the parish, had my monu- 
ment in a conspicuous place of the church, where I should 
have been cut in the form of prayer, as if I had been called 
away at my devotion, and so, for haste to be in heaven, went 
thither with my book and spectacles. "f 

There is a great deal of real poetry in the world — I mean 
not the world of versifiers, — but the poetry of life, poetry in 
existences recorded and unrecorded, of those who have been 
recognised, and those who die " unnoticed and unknown ; " 
— poetry that is not a whit less real because it escapes the 
skill of the delineators of human character. How often is it 
buried under apparently trivial daily employments and 
doings, that are at discord with the heroic, or patient and 
suffering sentiment — shrinking within, from the touch and 
the thoughts that promise no 'Sympathy, and hidden perhaps 
still further into its own soul-retreat by an outward ridicule 

* Two costly monuments were erected to the memory of Dante — one in 
1483, by Bernardo Bembo, father of the cardinal; and a still more magnificent 
one in 1780, by the Cardinal Gonzaga. The former had an effigy of the poet 
in bas-relief, and the following Latin inscription, — 

"Exigua tumuli, Danthes, hie sorte jacebas, 
Squalenti nulli cognite pere situ. 
At nunc marmoreo subnixus conderis arcu. 

Omnibus et cultu splendidiore nites. 
Nemirum Bembus Musis incensus Etruscis, 
Hoc tibi, quern imprimis tu coluere, dedit." 

t Shirley, The Witty Fair One. 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 489 

or contempt cast upon its outward garment. Such is peculi- 
arly the case in the life of him to whom is applicable the line — 

"And Melancholy marked him for her own." 

Tragedy on the stage is not more tragic than in the actual 
lives of men. Both can have but their one and alike sad 
finale ; the one called out from extraneous incidents, by the 
electric sympathy of the playwright's genius, and made by 
his art visible to all — the other known and felt but by few, 
and yet in every circle, and for the day. The world is not 
all prosaic, as some say, and never will be. But it has ac- 
quired a trick of hiding and almost denying what it daily 
feels and knows. The conventionalities of society are the 
refuge which each individual takes too willingly into osten- 
sible commonplace — a dulness that is but a put-on deadness 
to the more private tragedy and comedy, that every one is 
sensible of being in himself and in all around him. 

It is, however, time to bring this prelude to an end, lest it 
become tedious, and, by becoming irrelevant also, be thought 
impertinent to the simple narrative which at the commence- 
ment I purposed to give. I have been as one in an orches- 
tra playing an overture, not sufficiently considering the 
greatness or the meanness, as it may be, of the piece to 
which it should be an introtluction ; and who, not having 
any great skill to manage the stops of his instrument, and to 
reduce them agreeably and insensibly to the proper key- 
note, has been playing a voluntary of vagaries, both to hide 
the defects of his art, and impelled to go on, from the diffi- 
culty of escaping from the labyrinth of his concords and dis- 
cords. In this manner I may have pitched my notes alter- 
nately too high and too low, and led to an expectation that 
my poor story is better and worse than it is. Yet it is in 
fact both high and low — inasmuch as it is a tale of a poor 
beggar, it is low — inasmuch as it is a tale of gratitude, it is 



490 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

high j for gratitude is a high virtue, and, like every other 
virtue, assuming the nobler height from being measured 
from the lowness of the ground from which it ascends. And 
let me say, that in telling this simple tale of a Beggar's 
Legacy, I am sensible of a gratitude due from me, who have 
been ultimately the recipient of this legacy. But as I have 
just now elevated gratitude, I had best say nothing of my 
own debt, lest I seem rather to magnify my performance as 
an over-payment, than as an honest discharge of a common 
duty. Payment, indeed ! — payment in a little ink and a 
few words, that, like counters, are but things to play with, 
and pay nothing, and cost nothing — self-flattery of the would- 
be payer. Praise to a dead ear, that, rake up all its dust as 
compact as you will, never will hear. It may be so — yet 
who pretends to know that ? Then, let living humanity give 
receipt for it, as not worthless. For humanity that dies not 
has its accounts — its history to make up, and deliver in — 
and might well thankfully receive every, however trifling, 
anecdote of virtue, and of duty performed, to embellish pages 
that might otherwise be blank, or perhaps dark. 

Towards the end of the last century, a gentleman was 
walking homewards, in the city of Bristol, when he was 
accosted by a beggar in the street, in these words : " Sir, 
I have been looking about for a gentleman to whom I might 
with confidence address myself, and tell my wants. I think 
I have found him in you." Here, the reader will be at once 
ready to say — " What an accomplished beggar! this flattery 
was not learnt in a day." — Reader, if such be your thought, 
you are mistaken. I verily believe that this was the first 
day in his life that this poor old man, for old he was, begged, 
but you shall hear further the nature of his " beggar's peti- 
tion." It is, however, needful that you know something of 
him to whom the petition was made. That person was in 
appearance, what he was thoroughly in character, & gentleman; 






THE BEGGARS LEGACY. 491 

never had any one a kinder, a more generous heart. He was 
acquainted with the world through intercourse with society, 
and through extensive literature. He was a ripe scholar, and 
a man of refined taste. He has been dead more than forty 
years, yet has the writer of this narrative a remembrance of 
him never to be erased, for it is made perfect and sanctified 
by filial veneration, founded upon a rare excellence. Further 
description would be painful, it would be like the breaking 
into a sanctuary, and exposing sacred things. If I have 
given the beggar's words, it is because the whole scene was 
vividly detailed to me by so truthful an authority. The 
beggar paused. After a while he continued, " I am alone in 
the world, have lost wife and children, my two sons were 
killed at Bunker's Hill. I have nothing to live for. I want 
a place to die in. I ask for a pass to St Peter's Hospital. 
I think you can obtain it for me." He did not ask for money, 
but for a place to die in. Such an address as this was sure 
to move the person to whom it was made. He replied — 
that the hospital which the man desired was a wretched 
place, a receptacle for the lowest paupers. " You seem to 
have seen better days. You would be miserable there. I 
should be loth to obtain for you that which you desire. 
You have certainly seen better days." "I have," replied 
the beggar, for such I shall continue to call him. " I have 
been a painter — but am now old and alone, and only want 
where to end my life." " I must have a further talk with 

you. Call at my house at . In the meanwhile take 

wherewith to supply your immediate wants, and don't forget to 
call upon me." And the time was fixed. The man received 
with hesitation the gift, and they separated. The beggar 
called at the appointed time, and often repeated his visits. 
More and more the gentleman became interested in him — 
was pleased with his conversation — desired him to wait till 
he could do something better for him — begged him to accept 



492 THE BEGGARS LEGACY. 

a weekly sum for his maintenance, until he could be better 
provided for. How long this weekly eleemosynary support 
continued I am not able to say, whether months, a year, or 
even years. The result was a comfortable location in the 
" Merchants' Aims-House," where, with, I have no doubt, 
some other monthly aids delicately given, the old man en- 
joyed some years of tranquillity. He said he had been 
a painter. It was a happy coincidence in this his latter 
fortune, that he addressed himself to one to whom a scarcely 
better recommendation could have been offered ; for he was 
passionately fond of the arts, and was himself practically an 
amateur. The old man must have had an eventful life, for 
at one time he had been a mariner. There was a book of 
many events, many cares, many thoughts, and much gathered 
observation, visibly written in his countenance. I will 
describe his portrait as it is now before me — painted by 
himself, and very well painted too, in his Aims-House dress. 

THE BEGGAR'S PORTRAIT. 

First, as to his dress. On his head is a faded red velvet 
cap, much like that seen in the portraits of authors in Queen 
Anne's time ; a gown of green cloth, somewhat coarse, hangs 
in loose folds round his person ; round the neck a plain white 
cravat, tied rather loosely. As to features, the shape of the 
face is square, but within that squareness is a rounded ful- 
ness; the features might somewhat resemble those of Hogarth, 
but the eyes are not so large, the nose not quite so curt, the 
mouth more compressed, and there is more of decision in the 
length and firmness of the jaw than in Hogarth. The fore- 
head is broad and open, and more prominent than in the 
satiric painter, the brow less arched, the eyes remarkably 
keen and observant. In character, excepting in the point of 
observation, the resemblance to Hogarth is lost, for there is 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 493 

no expression of coinbativeness. It is mild, inquiring, ex- 
perienced, and meditative upon experiences. You would 
pronounce him a naturalist, as I believe he was. This ex- 
perienced look is very striking — visible in his eyes and 
mouth ; you might apply to him what was said of Ulysses — 
take the Latin version of Horace : — 

" Qui mores hominum multorum vidit et urbes." 

Men, their manners, and their cities, he had seen ; but what 
men and manners ? There is nothing of the Grecian hero 
in his countenance. There is the impression of the world 
he had seen — not in its best phase of manners, but in its 
coarser nature ; and though there is gentleness, kindness, in 
the aspect, it is without its polish — its varnish. It pictures 
much that he had felt as well as much that he had seen. It 
is no ideal, but a commonplace portrait of one whom, at first, 
most people would call a commonplace man, for it would be 
difficult to class him of a high grade. But I doubt, if it 
were in a gallery, and seen a second time, if it would not 
arrest attention, and something singular be seen in it. There 
is certainly an indication of that wandering disposition I 
have before spoken of, as of a gentle, scarcely perceptible 
unsoundness ; but much of this was lost in the look of keen 
observation which the whole countenance had acquired. I 
have looked at the portrait so often that I find it one of the 
most interesting I have ever seen. I see a strangeness 
written in many lineaments — the exact character of which I 
cannot describe ; and it is the more strange on that account : 
sensible, shrewd, inquisitive, patient, unimpassioned — as one 
cognisant of other men's doings and thoughts — uncommuni- 
cative of his own. In age he looks not so old in the picture 
as I remember him. Do I then remember him ? it may be 
asked. Perfectly — and why not ? Often, when a boy, have 
I seen this beggar at his benefactor-friend's table — at the 
table of a man of polished manners, a scholar, and of refined 



494 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

taste — where lie was ever welcomed, unexceptionable as was 
his whole demeanour, unembarrassed, entertaining, quiet, 
modest, not from any imposed restraint, but from the sterling, 
true, simple manliness of his nature. I have described him 
as I remember him, and as I see him now in his portrait, 
painted by his own hand, the size of life. 

I have mentioned the pleasant, and I may say, friendly in- 
tercourse between him and his benefactor [which deserves 
best the name of benefactor may yet be seen). It happened 
that some weeks passed without his making his appearance 
as was his wont. This created uneasiness — a confidential 
servant was sent to the alms-house to inquire the cause of 
our old guest absenting himself. This servant found him ill 
in his bed, and in a dying state, and one of those human 
fiends one sometimes reads of, an unfeeling old nurse-tender, 
was stealing the sheets from under him. The old man was 
able to express great satisfaction at the arrival of good Ben- 
jamin — such was the servant's name. He was glad he had 
come, for he was desirous to make his will. To make his 
will ! — what could such a one have to bequeath ? However, 
he did make his will, in a few words bequeathing to his 
patron-friend whatever he might die possessed of. That was 
his death-bed. 

Before this event he had one day asked his friend if he had 
ever seen his journal — he would bring it to him. It may 
have been opened, or not, I cannot say ; it may have been 
considered a mere sailor's journal, and not read. At the old 
man's death what was the property ? I think I have heard 
not less than a couple of hundred volumes of books. The 
MS. "Penrose's Journal," a MS. volume of Lives of Painters, 
collected by the deceased ; some volumes of transcribed 
poetry; portraits of his two wives, and of himself — that 
which is now before me, and which I have described. Where- 
in lay the value of such a legacy ? It will be presently seen. 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 495 

The affectionate interest in the old man's memory naturally 
led to a remembrance of his journal — the MS. entitled "Jour- 
nal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman." * I have not before 
advertised the reader that the old man's name was not Pen- 
rose, but Williams. I pass on to the narrative. The jour- 
nal was read, and I well remember with what delight, by 
every member of the family ; and such was its deep interest 
that I am able to tell an anecdote not very much to my own 
credit, however it may speak well for the tale of the journal. 
I was then a boy ; I had not finished the manuscript when 
the last day of my holidays arrived. It is too true, but I 
must confess it, I contrived the next morning to be too late 
for the coach which was to have conveyed me many miles 
from home. I was thus able to finish the story. And what 
is this story ? it may be asked. That is a question I doubt 
if I should answer. Is it true or a fiction ? I can no more 
tell than any one else who may read it. I can only say, if 
not true, it is a most ingenious invention, and I should add, 
that many dates and events spoken of incidentally in the 
journal have been inquired into and examined and found 
correct. But it will be seen, ere I close this account, that 
one person, who had previously known this " beggar," did 
believe the story, and asserted that he knew some of the cir- 
cumstances to have been in the old man's former life. His 
former life ! Then who was he ? whence did he come ? 
what had been his life ? What was known about him before 
he came to Bristol, for the strange purpose of dying in the 
hospital of paupers ? The man who could paint such por- 
traits as his own, and of his deceased wives, it might be 

* The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman. Four volumes, Svo. 
London : Printed for John Murray, Albemarle Street ; and William Black- 
wood, Edinburgh. 1815. 

The Same. One volume. With a Print, and Vignette in the Title-page. 
A New Edition, London : Printed for Taylor and Hessey, 93 Fleet Street, 
and 13 Waterloo Place, Pall Mall. 1825. 



496 THE BEGGAR S LEGACY. 

thought, might have gained his living. And then his books 
— where were they when he thus sought this miserable 
refuge, and place of death? Natural questions. No doubt 
he might have maintained himself. Perhaps there was a 
delusion in his mind that he could not — perhaps he really 
could not — from that strange cause that I have attributed to 
that little wandering which becomes the characteristic of 
some minds, in which misfortune and remembrances that 
must be shunned have unsettled everything, excepting that 
root of sanity from which common thoughts and common 
reasonings and usages of life daily and mechanically proceed. 

Certainly no one, in any conversation with him, would for 
a moment have doubted his perfect sanity ; never did he 
show any tangible symptom — never, that I have ever heard 
of, any delusion. If there was one, it was deeply imbedded 
and out of sight, and no outward spring was visible, or ever 
touched, that caused a vibration. Perhaps I am wrong in 
this slightest intimation of a suspicion. But he had been a 
wanderer; and I have shown my theory, which must be 
accepted as a general theory. I leave the reader to apply 
it or reject it, and in any degree, to the individual subject of 
this memoir. 

His patron, whom I should now rather name the legatee, 
was so much interested in the narrative of Penrose's Journal, 
that he copied in his own handwriting the whole of it, and 
had it well bound with blank leaves for illustration of some 
of its incidents. His friend Nicholas Pocock, the celebrated 
marine painter, and Edward Bird (subsequently R.A.), made 
drawings for the book. I was present whenever the latter 
was at work. The book is now in my sight, with others 
that belonged to the old man, on my book-shelves. But 
now, to answer the question as to some further accounts of 
him. As yet no trace of him had been discovered previous 
to his coming to Bristol. But though unknown at the time, 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 497 

there was one man, and probably one man only, who could 
give any information respecting him. And here I cannot 
but remark how very curious are coincidences. It was a 
fortunate coincidence that, on his coming to Bristol, he 
addressed that particular person, most likely to rescue him 
from the miserable situation he sought — most likely to 
appreciate his character, to have a sympathy in his tastes 
and pursuits — most likely to preserve even the little library 
he had collected, and to value his manuscripts. Without 
this coincidence everything would, in all probability, have 
been scattered, utterly lost, and he might have died 
miserably. There would have been no legacy, and 
" Penrose's Journal " would never have seen the light. 
And here it occurs to mention another coincidence — one 
out of the many that make truth appear more strange 
than fiction; and which might well cause a suspicion, 
now and hereafter, to be thrown upon this simple statement 
I am making. Indeed I know that, though I have so 
distinctly asserted, and now most distinctly assert the con- 
trary, this work, " Penrose's Journal," has been given to me 
as its author ; and that which I am about to narrate has 
been treated as a fiction, allowable in novel-making, and as 
patent an invention as a preface to the Travels of Lemuel 
Gulliver, or any of the numerous literary impositions which 
usually amuse the world. 

Having so copied out fairly and illustrated this journal of 
" Penrose, a Seaman," years after the old man's death the 
copier and legatee, being at his lodgings in London, had 
taken the manuscript with him. One day, when he was not 
within, Mr West, President of the Eoyal Academy, called 
upon him, and waited his return. On the drawing-room 
table was the book. Mr West opened it, and, having to 
wait a considerable time, amused himself by reading a good 
portion. When the gentleman returned, to his surprise Mr 

2 i 



498 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

West acquainted trim that lie knew the author. I find 
among some papers a memorandum made at the time of this 
interview with Mr West, of which I here give the substance 
— no, I will rather transcribe the memorandum, dated 10th 
July 1805 :— 

" He (Mr West) dipped into Penrose's Journal, and read 
several pages in different parts. I was from home when he 
came, but returned time enough to give him an account of the 
author. He seemed very attentive to my history of Williams, 
and put several questions to me. He said every answer I gave 
tended to confirm his opinion. ' Sir,' said he, ' I have looked at 
several parts of this book, and much that I have seen I know to 
be true. I know the man, too ; and what is more extraordinary, 
had it not been for him, I never should have been a painter. It 
happened thus : I had a relation at Philadelphia, of the name of 
Pennington, whom I used frequently to visit while there. I saw a 
person carrying a picture, a landscape, the first, I believe, I had 
ever seen. I was very much struck with it, and desired him to 
show it to me. He did ; and asked me if I was fond of painting ? 
and, if I was, desired me to come to his house, and he would show 
me other things. I saw there some cattle-pieces, admired them, 
and inquired how he could paint them so accurately ? He said 
he would show me the secret ; and took a small box, which proved 
to be a camera. He showed me the construction of it. I went 
home, and was not at rest till I had made one for myself ; and 
my father gave me the glass out of an old pair of spectacles to 
complete it. My delight was then to go into the farmyards, and, 
by means of my camera, draw the cattle, &c. I knew that 
Williams had seen many of the things he describes in the jour- 
nal ; and he gave me the same account of them. He first lent 
me The Lives of the Painters* which lighted up a fire in my 
breast which has never been extinguished, and confirmed my 
inclination for the art. On my return from Italy, I sent to my 
friends in America, as a remembrance of me, my picture, which 
I had painted whilst abroad. I received a letter from Williams, 
for that was his name, with a complimentary copy of verses, in 
which he was pleased to flatter me very highly ; but, what is 
more extraordinary, the lines may be considered as prophetic of 
my future success in life, which they anticipate. I have his 

* TTris book, in "Williams's handwriting, which was then lent to the youth 
West, is now in mv possession. 



THE BEGGAK'S LEGACY. 499 

letter and verses by me now somewhere. I take it, he adopted 
the name Penrose from a great ship-builder of that name, who 
was a great friend of his ; it being very common for sea-faring 
men to adopt the names of their particular friends, instead of 
their own. Williams afterwards came to England. I was of 
some service to him in London, but of a sudden missed him from 
town ; and on inquiring, I believe of one Smith, an engraver, 
who knew him well, he told me he was gone to Bristol, as he was 
very poor, and had almost lost his eyesight, to claim some pro- 
vision to which he was entitled from the parish. I was struck 
with this coincidence with the history of Williams ; it induced 
me to put further questions concerning him, which confirmed my 
opinion that it was my old friend's composition that was before 
me ; and what you had shown me of The Lives of the Painters I 
knew to be his handwriting.'" 

Again : — 

" 13th. Saw Mr West again. He said, 'Perhaps I am the 
only person in existence who could give any account of Williams's 
life and manners. He first came to Virginia, from London, in a 
ship commanded by Captain Hunter. Between this time and 
his appearance at Philadelphia, when I first met him, was an 
interval of more than twenty years ; which time I consider him 
to have passed in the adventures related in the journal.'" 

I have likewise the following letter from Mr West : — 

" From the year 1747 to 1760, my attention was directed to 
every point necessary to accomplish me for the profession of 
painting. This often brought me to the house of Williams ; and 
as he was an excellent actor in taking off character, he often, to 
amuse me, repeated his adventures among the Indians, many of 
which adventures were strictly the same as related in your manu- 
script of Penrose, as was also the description of the scenery of the 
coasts, the birds on them, in particular the flamingo birds, which 
he described, when seen at a distance, as appearing like com- 
panies of soldiers dressed in red uniforms. He spoke the lan- 
guage of the savages, and appeared to me to have lived among 
them some years. I often asked him how he came to be with 
them : he replied he had gone to sea when young, but was never 
satisfied with that pursuit ; that he had been shipwrecked, 
and thrown into great difficulties, but Providence had preserved 
him through a variety of dangers. He told me he imbibed his 



500 THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 

love for painting when at a grammar-school in Bristol, where his 

greatest delight was to go and see an elderly artist who painted 
heads in oil, as well as small landscapes." 

To this account I can add what I heard from Mr West, 
that this Williams — so many years having passed since 
they met in America — surprised him by calling npon him in 
London. He was then painting the battle of La Hogue, 
and he made Williams sit for a figure in the boat, and who- 
ever wishes to see his portrait will see it in this print, and 
I think, from the description I have given of him, will not 
miss finding ont the man. Mr West further said that he 
used very frequently to come and smoke his pipe while he 
(Mr West) was painting ; that he knew him to be collecting 
prints and heads of painters. That, thinking him poor, he 
had questioned him, but could never prevail with him to 
own poverty or to accept money. That he suddenly missed 
him, and knew not anything of him till he had read the 
book at the lodgings in London, and had the interview with 
the transcriber. 

I think I have shown that this "Beggar" was indeed a 
singular man. In the midst of poverty, and with perhaps a 
wounded heart, he wandered, and yet in some way made art 
his pursuit. He might have had assistance from an able 
friend, the President of the Academy. He would none of it ; 
but at an instinct, as it were, yielding to the perverseness of 
his fortune, he wandered further still, to seek misery, from 
which, in spite of himself, Fortune, to show her caprice, 
rescued him, and compelled him to rest at last, and die in 
peace. 

But I have said nothing yet of the value of the legacy. 
I will speak but of one part of it. I sold to Mr Murray one 
edition of the " Journal of Penrose, Seaman," for two hun- 
dred guineas. It appeared in 1815 in four volumes. Sub- 
sequently I received a proposal from Messrs Hessey and 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 501 

Taylor for another edition. It appeared in one volume, but, 
owing to some circumstances relating to that firm, I received 
no accounts, and cannot speak of its success. Thus ends 
this narrative, which I have thought so curious, of such 
strange coincidences and character, that I have specially- 
made it the subject of a paper for Maga. I hope, with the 
accompanying comments, it has been amusing, if not in- 
structing. At least it may teach, from this example of the 
fraternity, not to be too hard upon beggars, and think with 
Mr Bumble that they all deserve whipping. For neither 
would any Bumble, nor many of his superiors, were they in 
my place, as legatee by succession, despise a " Beggar's 
Legacy." No, let none despise a " beggar," with or without 
a legacy prospect. Who knows who a beggar may be ? 
Archbishop Usher appeared as a beggar at a curate's gate, 
and was reproved by the curate's wife for misnumbering the 
commandments, as being eleven ; but it was understood 
when next morning he preached a sermon in the church, 
and gave out his text — " A new commandment I give unto 
you, that ye love one another." By this, said he, it should 
appear that there are eleven commandments. The good 
curate's wife would not again say, " for shame, old man," — 
and there will be some wisdom in all of us, if we be made 
cautious of casting contempt even on a poor beggar. May 
we not sometimes even go beyond this forbearance ? Reader, 
I will give you an example of a beggar worthy your very 
highest admiration — one neither fabulous nor of a worn-out 
date, but of this day, at this hour. The last example was of 
an archbishop, and he in disguise ; this shall be of a bishop, 
and not in any disguise, but in the very dignity of beggary. 
It is known that Bishop Selwyn, when he supposed he was 
by agreement to receive from the Government £600 per 
annum, for the expenditure imposed by his episcopal office, 
gave up his private fortune, and devoted it to the best pur- 



502 



THE BEGGAR'S LEGACY. 



poses. Finding himself, however, deprived of his Parlia- 
mentary grant, and altogether without resources, he simply 
said, " he would dig or beg, or both ;" and indeed that good 
pious bishop will not, and need not ever say, " Dig I cannot 
— to beg I am ashamed." 

It may not be difficult to make out pretty clearly that, in 
some way or other, we are all beggars — all of one fraternity, 
and requiring aid in some need. Let us then accept will- 
ingly the archbishop's eleventh commandment, and look to 
ourselves that we do " love one another." We may perhaps, 
in that case, all receive a " Beggar's Legacy," payable from 
a never-failing fund, by the hands of those pure celestial 
executrixes — Faith, Hope, and Charity. 



THE END. 






Jl^p 



f405 



PRINTED BY "WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. 



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